


knives don't have your back

by thememoriesfire



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-20
Updated: 2009-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 16:39:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thememoriesfire/pseuds/thememoriesfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>open your chest and take the heart from it; open your chest</p><p>[The things she's doing with Effy, they're meant to be like a plaster on an open wound; but Naomi underestimates how hard that plaster can stick.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> There are a lot of bizarre rumors about why I yanked my Skins fanfiction offline back in 2010, and they're all completely erroneous; the long and short of it was, I was applying for jobs wherein I had to work with 17 year olds (maybe) and just had a crisis of "oh God, I wrote a shitload of explicit fanfiction about 17 year olds in the last year; help?". It feels significantly less skeevy with some distance, so here we are! All the terrible writing back in action.
> 
> This is a story that I think only close friends read, as I wrote it in the job-application time period and didn't make it publicly available. It's my own personal favorite of my Skins stuff, so enjoy!

_Open your chest and take the heart from it, open your chest_ _  
  
_

_What's bad, we'll fix it_ __

_What's wrong, we'll make it alright, alright_ __

_It's gone, we'll find it_ __

_Takes so long, we've got time_ __

_All the time_ __

 

 **Knives don’t have your back**  
  
1\. The Last Page ( _by the way, it’s over without you_ )  
  
2\. Dr. Blind ( _my baby’s got the lonesome lows, don’t quite go away overnight_ )  
  
3\. Detective Daughter ( _she calls around, finds me crying, wish I were capable of lying sometimes_ )  
  
4\. Crowd Surf Off a Cliff ( _cursed with a love you can’t express, it’s not for a fuck or a kiss_ )  
  
5\. The Lottery ( _there’s a new crime, let’s commit it while we’re waiting on the next day_ )  
  
6\. The Maid Needs a Maid ( _read the guidelines, you trouble me_ )  
  
7\. Our Hell ( _what I thought it was it isn’t now_ )   
  
8\. Nothing & Nowhere ( _some say we’re falling off the page_ )   
  
9\. Reading in Bed ( _why are your songs so sad?_ )  
  
10\. Mostly Waving ( _done, thought as I was_ )   
  
11\. Winning ( _what we made doesn’t make sense_ )

 


	2. the last page

It’s not that she doesn’t see it coming.  
  
It’s that she can’t stop it from happening.  
  
\----  
  
Initially, they spend as much time as they can in Emily’s world, where  _all right_  is eternally the dominant feeling. Out by the lake, barely touching, talking about nonsense, totally high and relaxed and happy.  
  
The niggling feeling at the back of Naomi’s mind that this is perhaps all just an illusion doesn’t ever go away for longer than delicate minutes at a time, like strands connecting her fingertips to Emily’s, like just holding on is the only thing that stops things from falling apart.  
  
\----   
  
The first fight is explosive.  
  
“How could you not  _tell_  me?” Emily yells, and Naomi still hasn’t learned how to deal with this; how to actually argue, because being a total bitch more or less stops things from ever getting that far. She can’t help but shift away, and just keep her lips pressed together until Emily makes for the door again.  
  
“I didn’t know what it would solve, okay? Telling you,” she says, awkwardly, and then looks away before Emily can catch her eyes. “I mean, fuck’s sake, this was before I even—before—“  
  
“All this time, you let me think Katie was our biggest problem.”  
  
Naomi wants to respond with things like  _isn’t she, though?_ and  _fuck your mother_ , but they don’t come out. Instead she just sits and watches as Emily slumps down against the door.  
  
“She’s threatened to send me away next year, unless I end it.”  
  
“So tell her you did,” Naomi suggests, and Emily looks up at her with disbelieving eyes.  
  
“Yeah, that’ll go over well. Do you have any fucking idea what my life was like before you? I’d never fucking see you. I’d either be following Katie places, or stuck at home, in the garden, or reading. The Emily they  _like_ , the one they miss, she doesn’t—“  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Naomi interjects, and plays with her own fingers; looks at them, and only concludes after five minutes that they haven’t changed at all, though it feels like they have, like they  _should_  have.  
  
“You should’ve told me,” Emily repeats, but this time with more hurt than anger, and Naomi says, “I know” because it means more than sorry could.  
  
\----  
  
She gets messages from Katie. They’re all short and bitchy, like she expects them to be, but then the fact that she’s getting them at all—she’ll never understand how they work together, the twins. She’s only now starting to appreciate how close to  _not possible_  Katie’s disapproval made their being together in the first place, and it’s what makes her put up with it at all: Emily’s constant canceling of meet-ups, abruptly ending phone calls, promises (lacking conviction) that things will be better once the summer’s over.  
  
Naomi spends time in her room, and wonders when being alone stopped cutting it for her; looks at budget airline tickets to Cyprus and curses herself for not knowing how to be her own person and Emily’s at the same time.  
  
\----  
  
July and August are a collection of stolen moments.  
  
Naomi crosses out X’s on her calendar, tries to remember Emily’s conviction, tries to borrow a little bit of it each week, just to keep her going. It’s harder than she would have thought, losing her independence like this, wanting something and not being able to have it. Almost as hard as confessing to wanting to that something in the first place.  
  
The last week before college starts again, they see each other for a total of two hours, each time because of Emily’s relentless determination to makeit—them—work and Naomi’s unwillingness to oppose her, since it’s entirely likely that life  _without_  Emily will be as fucking scary as life  _with_  Emily was for almost eight months, until she finally stopped resisting it.  
  
Maybe that fear—maybe  _that’s_  what love is, she thinks, and then cycles out to the lake by herself, watches the sun set on it. When it’s dark, sherealizes that she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s thinking. Doesn’t know anything.  
  
\----  
  
School becomes a temporary refuge; the snickering in the corridor stops after a few of Katie’s withering glares, who then makes it a point to clarify thatshe doesn’t actually  _approve_  but she just can’t fucking tell who, exactly, is being laughed at, and she’s had enough of being laughed at.  
  
She’s still in the middle of telling Naomi and Emily that they make her sick, on several levels, when she spots Effy at the end of the hallway.  
  
Naomi’s first thought isn’t  _oh, right, rock_  like it should be; instead, it’s  _where’s Freddie?_ , and she surprises herself with it, because even before Effy and Cook had pulled a runner, it had seemed incredibly unlikely there would be a positive resolution to that situation.  
  
“Bitch,” Katie says, but it comes out so meekly and she’s so fucking pale that after one head-tilt from Emily, the sisters walk off in the other direction. Naomi isn’t sure what to do, just stares at their retreating backs—same height, same hair, same gait when they’re upset—until she knows where she _can’t_  go.  
  
And fuck it, she thinks; she didn’t hit  _me_.  
  
“Have a good summer?” she asks, and Effy looks as surprised as Effy’s ever looked to even be spoken to, before shoving a book back in her locker.  
  
“It was eventful,” Effy responds after a long time, and then directs a questioning look at Naomi. “Yours?”  
  
“Different,” she decides after a moment, and then they look at each other cautiously.  
  
“Talking to me not going to cause issues with your girlfriend? Or is that not—“  
  
“I don’t care,” Naomi says, and then repeats it, firmly, because she doesn’t want to be the kind of person who  _does_  care. Effy doesn’t say anything for a long time, and eventually Naomi smiles. “Hell, I wish you’d hit her a little harder, sometimes.”  
  
Effy’s answering smile is almost real.  
  
\----  
  
“What did she say then?” Emily asks over lunch. They eat it out on the back steps, enjoying a few moments of privacy until Katie has reapplied her make-up and will join them.  
  
“Oh, lots of stuff; all about her travels this summer, you know, her life goals, her philosophies on love and dating…”  
  
Emily smacks her in the arm. “Don’t be a cunt. She  _really_  hurt Katie.”  
  
“Yeah, well,” Naomi says, unwillingly defensive. “Who  _knows_  what Katie did to her, and anyway, your question was idiotic. It’s  _Effy_ ; since when hasshe said more than five words about anything?”  
  
“Glad you had a nice, casual chat, then,” Emily manages, stonily, a moment later.  
  
“What the fuck’s wrong with you two?” Katie asks, when she shows up. She doesn’t care for an answer, which is good, because Naomi doesn’t know how to give one.  
  
\----  
  
She leaves dark bruises on Emily’s chest sometimes; carefully hidden in places where people—Katie—won’t see them.  
  
One night, two weeks after the start of college, Emily stops her before she sucks too hard, and pulls her up by the chin. “You know I’m not going anywhere, don’t you?”  
  
Naomi doesn’t respond, but closes her eyes and shifts further down, to press her lips against places she could never mark.  
  
\----  
  
“You two fucking fighting again?” Katie asks, a week later, when Emily’s off to the loo and Naomi’s just smoking a post-lunch fag.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
It’s about as civil as they get and Katie visibly struggles to not say something bitchy in return.  
  
“I mean, she’s—there’s something going on. I can practically hear her think these days, and whatever.”  
  
“Applying to uni is a stressful process, Katie,” is all Naomi can think to say, because she has no idea if Emily’s thinking too much or not enough at all. They don’t see each other enough for that, and when they do, neither of them can be bothered to talk, really.  
  
“You don’t think I fucking know that? Christ. Forget I fucking asked, you miserable, condescending twat,” Katie snaps back, and then stalks off towards the main building without a backwards glance.  
  
Emily sighs when she gets back. “I really wish you two would stop fighting. You have no idea how tiring it is, to be in the middle of it all the time.”  
  
“Tell her to find her own fucking relationship and stop leeching on ours,” Naomi responds, blandly, and Emily looks absolutely horrified for a second before just shaking her head.  
  
“What is  _wrong_  with you? Do you not remember what happened to her before the summer?”  
  
“Yeah, so? Shit happens. Everyone’s moved on, why can’t she?”  
  
Emily stares at her mutely before rolling her eyes and picking up her bag with a grunt.  
  
Naomi doesn’t bother asking if they’re still on for later; it was highly unlikely anyway, since a pissy Katie won’t cover for them.  
  
\----  
  
She finds Effy outside smoking sometimes.   
  
They stand next to each other silently the first five times it happens, and then finally Naomi almost bites through her lip, voices what she thinks is happening.  
  
“You’ll live,” Effy says after a moment; only the squeeze of her hand to Naomi’s bicep right before she heads back inside undoes the callousness of thewords.  
  
Naomi apologizes to Emily at the next available opportunity, and gets kissed almost desperately as a reward.  
  
It’s not very comforting.  
  
\----  
  
The second fight is muted.  
  
“I’m sorry, okay? She asked me to sit for James and I can’t—I mean, I have no real reason to not postpone until tomorrow, so it’s—“  
  
“Whatever, Emily,” Naomi says, and hangs up.  
  
She looks at the wrapped present on her nightstand and sighs in disgust before rolling away from it.  
  
\----  
  
When it hits her that it is actually going to end, that she will not be able to make it work, it so unexpectedly squeezes all the air out of her lungs thatshe almost falls off her bicycle.   
  
\----  
  
“Are you happy?” she asks Emily, over lunch, with Katie having fucked off to  _finally_ be with a new boyfriend; some tosser on the swim team who can’tstring two sentences together without pausing.  
  
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Emily asks in turn, so carefully that it’s more meaningful than just a  _no_  would be.  
  
“Is—is this what you thought it would be, I mean.” She can’t look at Emily when she asks; instead looks out over the grassy field outside of college, spots Effy lying on her back and blowing smoke rings up towards the sky.  
  
“Of course it isn’t. We barely see each other outside of college, and when we do we can’t think of anything to say.”  
  
Naomi flicks her cigarette away. “I can think of plenty of things to say. It just sometimes doesn’t seem like you want to hear them.”  
  
“So now I’m selfish,” Emily repeats, and Naomi doesn’t need to look at her to know her eyes are welling up. “For wanting to be close to you, when I can. I can bloody well talk to you about your fucking uni applications and your coursework when we’re  _here_ , can’t I?”  
  
“We don’t really know each other, at all,” Naomi finally says, and then looks at Emily, watches her swallow hard a few times before she straightens. “Do we?”  
  
“No,” Emily says, and then directs a look at Naomi that’s so heartbroken that she can’t stand watching it for more than a second. “But that doesn’tmean I love you any less.”  
  
“We’ll work it out. How to be better, I mean,” Naomi promises. Emily doesn’t respond.  
  
\----  
  
October is temperamental; she gets unexpectedly drenched while cycling to school at least three times in the first week alone. It feels like a warning.  
  
\----  
  
Emily: Oxford, Durham, Warwick.  
Naomi: UCL, LSE, King’s.  
  
“Christ, I don’t  _want_  to do long distance,” Emily snaps, and then rubs at her eyes. “I just don’t, okay?”  
  
“How, exactly, would it be any fucking different from what we do now?” Naomi responds icily, still upset that this is all somehow  _her_  fault, for having chosen based on course rather than geography. “I mean, I’d love to continue this argument, Emily, but if you don’t get home in the next thirty minutes your mum might suspect that you’re off having a life, munching muff somewhere.”  
  
The slap’s completely warranted, but they’re both still shocked by it.  
  
\----  
  
Her mum eyes her carefully later that evening, and then gently touches her cheek.  
  
“I had it coming,” Naomi mumbles sullenly, before shifting away and making herself a cup of tea.  
  
“It’s not easy, being with someone,” is all her mum says on the subject, before disappearing into the living room, and Naomi almost breaks the handle off her mug, thinks,  _I fucking knew that, once, until she tried to convince me that it could be_.  
  
\----  
  
Emily approaches life like it’s Disney; there may be evil mothers around every corner, but in the end, the prince and the princess work through it all. It’s _fated_. Happily ever after.  
  
It’s a theory that Naomi can’t subscribe to, not least of all because she was raised on a Grimm/Andersen diet. Her mum didn’t believe in cushioningthe blows, and it seems almost unreal that someone like Emily managed to emerge from the same family that produced Katie.  
  
And then comes the time in late October when she realizes she and Katie might actually see eye to eye on things; maybe it’s all because Katie got hit with reality, almost literally, and nothing like that ever happened to Emily, not permanently, not enough to dispel her undying faith in things ending up  _all right_.  
  
\----  
  
“I’m sorry,” Emily says the next time they see each other.  
  
“Me too,” Naomi says after a moment.  
  
They walk up the steps next to each other silently, and Naomi can’t help but think that there should be  _more_  to making up than this, to meant and sincere and course-changing apologies.  
  
At the top of the stairs, Effy talks to Freddie, or is talked to, with a look on her face that’s both exasperated and bored.  
  
“Sometimes wanting it isn’t enough,” she says, right as Naomi’s passing by her, and when Emily’s hand grapples for hers a second later, Naomi knows they’re for once thinking the same thing.  
  
\----  
  
“Are you all right?” she asks Effy after Politics, when Effy’s lingering until Freddie’s fucked off with one last wistful look, and Effy’s mouth sets for a moment before she shrugs.  
  
“We tried. It didn’t work out. I expected it, I accepted it, and now—“  
  
“Sucks,” Naomi says, and Effy looks at her carefully for a moment.  
  
“Does it?”  
  
Naomi is still standing there when the bell rings.  
  
\----  
  
The end is still unspoiled, even with all the foreshadowing.  
  
Emily, in what has to be the single most ironic thing to happen in Bristol, ever, invites her out for coffee at a café where Katie had once told Naomi thatshe’d never love Emily enough.  
  
That part hadn’t been true, but then Katie had said other things, like  _she doesn’t want you anymore_ , and after watching Emily fidget with her coffee for three minutes Naomi crumbles completely. “Just fucking say it, Em.”  
  
In the end, they don’t even use any of the required words; Emily’s lip trembles and she shakes her head before wiping furiously at her eyes, and Naomi just bites the inside of her cheek until Emily whispers, “I’m so sorry” and pushes away from the table.  
  
Naomi watches her walk past the window, yellow bag and red hair, and knows the expression on her face is an exact copy of what it was six months earlier.  
  
She forgets to pay, and then ends up leaving a twenty. It doesn’t occur to her until days later that she should’ve gotten change, and only then does shecry.  
  
\----  
  
School is a purgatory; not the real one, because Naomi would resent getting that dramatic about anything, but  _a_  purgatory, a place where she’s constantly confronted with her past mistakes. And of course, there’s only one mistake, really, because she was foolish just once. Just one fucking time.  
  
\----  
  
They’re everywhere; two for the price of one again like they were at the start of college, but with Emily somehow having moved up a notch in Katie’s esteem, to the point where they’re side by side, if not arm in arm, everywhere they go.  
  
It hurts so much she doesn’t even have words for it; the best she can do is avoidance of nearly everything and everyone, like a poor imitation of what her life used to be like.  
  
It can’t last, though, and after two weeks they all end up in the girl’s washroom together, with Katie looking uncomfortable to be there and Emily notacknowledging her at all; looking almost blankly at the mirror, as if that can undo 6 months, 14 months, 2 years.   
  
Naomi can’t quite bring herself to move, just keeps washing her hands and staring at the sink, waiting for them to buy a fucking clue and just leave, but after a second Katie murmurs something and Emily shakes her head, and out comes Katie’s make-up bag.  
  
She’s on the verge of a panic attack, even though they’re not even fucking  _doing_  anything, but it’s panic or tears—like, how can Emily just stand there, two feet away, how is this  _bearable_  for her—and then Effy exits a stall behind them, eyes flitting around for just a beat, until she grabs Naomi by thearm, hauls her out of the bathroom.  
  
It’s only when they’re outside and she’s smoked half a cigarette with shaky, wet hands that she manages to properly, truly exhale, and then almost says something retarded like  _thanks_  but Effy cuts her off with a look, just shakes her head once before looking out over the grass again.  
  
“If I get swine flu, I’m blaming you for not giving me a chance to wash my hands,” Effy murmurs when the cigarette’s almost burned Naomi’s fingers, and she drops it in surprise.  
  
Their laughter, moments later, almost sounds normal.


	3. dr. blind

She self-medicates.  
  
It’s almost inevitable, the way her entire relationship with Emily was lined and instigated, heightened by drugs in the first place—would it have ever happened if not for MDMA at Panda’s, vodka and spliff by the lake, mushrooms in the woods? It’s a question she spends too much time thinking about, too much time resenting.  
  
The problem is that she doesn’t have much in the way of drugs—it’s shockingly disappointing that no matter how liberal her mum might be, there’s not even a gram of weed to be found in the entire house, but it’s okay, because Naomi’s got options. She’s got all sorts of options, because Effy’s house is like a fucking pharmacy.  
  
“Sit,” Effy says before disappearing around the corner, and Naomi stares at the drawing on the wall, the sex words that seem even more meaningless now that she’s actually  _had_  proper sex a few times, and she snorts unwillingly.  
  
The bed dips when Effy sits down again, and she’s got so much shit in her hands that laughter bubbles up in Naomi’s chest unexpectedly.  
  
“I like your lava lamp.”  
  
Effy doesn’t bother responding, doesn’t even indicate that she heard, but just starts lining all the little packets and strips up, and then finally points a blunt, shortened fingernail at each of the stacks. “Uppers; downers; something for amnesia; Viagra; speed…” She trails off before she reaches the last ones, and then puts those back in her pocket. “My mum actually  _needs_  these, so I think we should make do with something else.”  
  
“Jesus,” Naomi says, and then picks up the Viagra. “Didn’t know this worked for girls.”  
  
“Not in the same way; but if you take it with the Ritalin and the Oxycontin, it’s a lot like coke laced with speed, actually.”  
  
Naomi puts everything back down and then looks at Effy with a frown. “I was hoping you’d have some alcohol, to be totally honest.”  
  
Effy’s smile is calculated and kind all at once. “Do you really think that will cut it?”  
  
Naomi turns her head away and then sighs. “I fucking hate how she’s made me feel.”  
  
“So don’t feel it,” is Effy’s solution, and when she’s offered a glass of water with a brownish-red pill, she takes both with only one second—like a  _thump_ in her chest—of hesitation.  
  
\----  
  
They don’t talk that first afternoon; Naomi falls asleep and has restless dreams about fishing, angling for something and just not getting a bite, until shegets pulled into a lake—not that one, but just  _a_  lake—and drowns because she can’t get her trainers off in time.  
  
When she wakes up, Effy is staring at her and then just hands over a pack of Lucky Strikes and a box of matches.  
  
“How retro,” Naomi manages, after swallowing hard, and then rubs at her head. “Fuck, what was in that pill? I just had the most fucked up dream of my _life_.”  
  
Effy doesn’t say anything for a bit but then smiles wryly. “It was one of the anti-depressants my mum was on when Tony was in a coma.”  
  
“Who’s Tony?”  
  
“My brother,” Effy says, flatly, but something in her face shifts anyway, now that his name has been mentioned, and Naomi rolls over onto her side.  
  
“How come you don’t talk about him?”  
  
Effy shrugs. “He’s in Cardiff.”  
  
“Yeah, so? He’s not  _dead_.”  
  
Effy doesn’t respond; just takes a slow drag on the cigarette she’s smoking and doesn’t exhale until a small stream of smoke exits her nose.  
  
“What happened with Freddie and Cook?” Naomi finally asks, when it seems like there’s nothing else sensible to ask anymore.  
  
Effy’s face clouds just for a beat, and then she slips off the bed, moves over to the window and opens it; the wind blows her hair back, and only with her face totally clean, totally clear in sight does Naomi finally notice how fucking  _tired_  she looks, how maybe Effy’s been self-medicating for a long time as well, and yet still she doesn’t answer.  
  
“Christ, it can’t be that bad,” she prompts, and Effy just glances at her before leaning against the window, flicking her fag out of it and then inhaling deeply, as if air is going to be the thing to make her better after all this time.  
  
“They raced over me.”  
  
It’s so unexpected an answer that Naomi doesn’t really know whether to laugh or ask anything else, but when Effy’s mouth sets and then relaxes again, she just waits it out.  
  
“That didn’t solve a fucking thing, obviously. Next thing I know we’re on a boat for a week, me and the three musketeers, and by the time we finally made it back to Bristol, there hadn’t been anything left to say.”  
  
Naomi smiles. “Was that the Cliff’s Notes version?”  
  
Effy looks at her sharply. “If I asked you what happened with Emily, would you write me a fucking novel?”  
  
“No, I guess not.”  
  
The sun is setting behind Effy, and it brings out the blue in her eyes to an almost manic extent. Naomi can’t help asking: “How long has it been since you’ve slept, then?”  
  
Effy doesn’t answer; just pulls open a drawer in her dresser and fishes out a bottle of vodka. “Your drink of choice, correct?”  
  
“It’s almost like you know me,” Naomi murmurs, and watches as Effy crosses the room, turns on the lava lamp, and then settles back on the bed.  
  
The faint red glow, bubbling, is all Naomi remembers when she wakes up the next day, clutching a bottle of vodka—empty,  _emptier_ —for the second time in her life.  
  
Effy’s curled up into a ball beside her, and when Naomi shifts, she rolls over abruptly and stares at her with bloodshot eyes.  
  
“Don’t have any pills to cure insomnia?”  
  
Effy smiles faintly. “There’s worse things than not sleeping.”  
  
Naomi doesn’t bother disagreeing.  
  
\----  
  
The next pharmaceutical outing takes place at her own house; she has Effy over for dinner, because it doesn’t look like anyone else is feeding Effy, and watches with barely contained amusement as her mum tries to pull words, like teeth, from the girl who will never voluntarily talk.  
  
Except Effy does, after a bit, and maybe it’s just that nobody’s asked her to, much.  
  
After dinner, they head upstairs, and Effy directs a long, hard look at the bed. “This where it all happened, then?”  
  
“Cunt,” Naomi says, agreeably, and then laughs. “Why don’t you just go downstairs? Spend some time with your new best friend?”  
  
Effy’s eyes sharpen. “Your mum’s nice.”  
  
“Yeah, when she’s not—“  
  
“She made us dinner, and cares about what you’re doing. Stop being a twat, Naomi,” Effy says, and then heads over to the bookshelf, runs one fingertip past all the spines until she reaches the end.  
  
Naomi feels perhaps an inkling of shame, but it’s so foreign a feeling that mostly she’s just surprised, and feels something else for Effy altogether, who apparently thinks that cooking a bloody stew makes for mother of the year. “Sorry,” she mumbles, and Effy shrugs before pulling out a book, holding the cover up for inspection.  
  
“Really?” she asks, with a smile, and Naomi rolls her eyes.  
  
“Katie’s idea of a joke.”  
  
“Must’ve hit her harder than I thought I did,” Effy says, and Naomi has to bite down on her lip to not start laughing.  
  
They settle on the bed after that, with Effy still holding the  _Lesbian Kama Sutra_ , and when Naomi twists the bottlecap off the Absolut that Effy brought over, Effy grins.  
  
“Pick a page; I’m going to describe what’s on it, and you’re going to guess. You get three guesses; if you’re right, you drink.”  
  
“Jesus, can’t we just get pissed?”  
  
Effy’s grin widens. “Worried you’re  _that_  shit a lesbian?”  
  
“No,” Naomi says, archly. “Just not sure the effort’ll be worth it.”  
  
Effy’s grin slips after a moment, and then she just looks at Naomi soberly, in a way that Naomi suspects not many people can say no to.  _Wounded eyes_ , she thinks, and watches as Effy puts the book down.   
  
“All right, fine. We’ll fucking play. I hope you’re not shy, because there is some crazy shit in that book.”  
  
“I think I’ll manage,” Effy says. Her voice doesn’t change, but the end of her mouth curves up, and Naomi feels oddly accomplished, like potential non-disaster has been averted.  
  
\----  
  
“Fuck off, that isn’t even physically  _possible,”_ Naomi slurs, and then grapples for the book. “Show me that.”  
  
Effy holds the book open and Naomi peers at the picture before snorting, and then laughing out loud. “That’s—who would  _do_  that?”  
  
“Could be fun,” Effy says, the slight waver on the last word the only sign that she’s getting drunk, but it’s enough.  
  
“Fucking Katie,” Naomi sighs and then rolls onto her back, passes the vodka to Effy. “I’ve had enough.”  
  
Effy takes another hard hit and then sets the bottle and the book on the nightstand, sits up against the headboard and looks around the room without saying anything.  
  
“I don’t see why people would bother with all that,” Naomi says after a bit, and then runs a hand through her hair. “It’s plenty of fun the normal way. I mean, you know, just doing what you can think of, what feels good. You don’t need like twenty fucking years of Yoga in preparation to make it work.”  
  
“Hm,” Effy says, and crosses her legs, pushes the hem of her dress down until it’s covered most of her thighs again.  
  
“It’s very different, you know. Girls,” Naomi says, and then sighs. “Or  _a_ girl. Fuck knows.”  
  
“I fucked one of my brother’s friends once,” Effy states after a few moments. “She had long blonde hair, didn’t eat much. It made her constantly hungry.”  
  
“Is that a metaphor?” Naomi asks with a frown.  
  
Effy’s lips twitch. “Sort of. But you’re right. It’s very different.”  
  
“I think it’s even more different if you—“  
  
“Yeah, it probably is,” Effy agrees, and then reaches out, pats Naomi on the arm. “I think I’m going to go, okay?”  
  
“All right,” Naomi says, and watches as Effy pulls her boots on, one agonizingly slow lace at a time, until she’s ready for the outside world again.  
  
Like a mask, Naomi thinks, and watches her go.  
  
\----  
  
Naomi sleeps poorly, and when she heads downstairs her mum’s pouring a glass of juice, still reading the paper, until the juice sloshes over the end of the glass.  
  
Naomi almost snaps at her, but then remembers Effy, and just gets her own glass and a paper towel.  
  
“Your friend’s interesting,” her mum says. It would be a twat comment from anyone else, but she’s heard her mum say it about other people that shethought were pretty fantastic, so it’s probably just the truth.  
  
“Yeah, Effy’s one of a kind.”  
  
“She’s  _really_  lonely, Naomi,” her mum says, without looking up from the paper. “Bring her around for dinner again sometime, will you?”  
  
It takes her a second to start cleaning up again, for her hand to move in a circle, and she drinks her juice out on the porch, away from observations that make her uncomfortable.  
  
\----  
  
The third time she turns to Effy for a dose of feel-good happens is triggered in the middle of college; they’re assigned partner projects for some political canvassing, and because Kieran is a sadistic fuck who won’t just pair people up in alphabetical order, she ends up with Emily. Effy’s paired with JJ, which is about the least horrible solution for  _her_ , but she doesn’t appear to be thinking of herself much when she sits on Naomi’s desk at the end of class.  
  
“She’ll call you,” she tells Emily, and Naomi almost laughs when Emily makes a sound of protest but then fucks off. “God. Once a doormat,” Effy mumbles when the door closes behind her, and Naomi does laugh then—laughs until she cries.  
  
Effy doesn’t tell her to stop, or that it’ll get better, or anything really. Effy just waits for it to pass, and then offers complete and total denial.  
  
“You’re my best friend, I think,” Naomi proposes after the V-R-O cocktail has kicked in properly and her head’s starting to spin pleasantly, just about enough for her to forget that she’s going to have to spend time alone with Emily just to not fucking fail Politics. “I don’t think I’ve ever had one before.”  
  
“Wasn’t Emily your best friend?” Effy asks, and Naomi flinches away from the question, rolls over onto her side.  
  
“No,” she finally says, and then starts again when Effy carefully puts a hand on her hip, squeezes just once.  
  
“I think…” Effy says, and then stops for a long time, until Naomi’s almost fallen asleep. “Maybe you’re right.”  
  
“I usually am,” Naomi mumbles into the pillow, and when Effy’s hand withdraws, it only takes seconds for the rain to start clattering against her bedroom window, for the room to be cast in shadows.  
  
\----  
  
Naomi sleeps for hours; only wakes up when Effy’s arm jerks against hers, and then rolls over and watches Effy twitch in the throes of a nightmare thatshe can’t figure out; not until Effy’s hands shift up towards her throat, and her head starts shaking, and that’s when she intervenes.  
  
She reaches for Effy’s wrist, captures it, and then stays perfectly still as Effy’s eyes shoot open and she looks around desperately, trying to place where she is and what’s happening.  
  
“What did she do to you, Ef?” Naomi asks, and Effy drops her head back on the pillow, swallows hard a few times.  
  
“I wish I remembered,” Effy finally whispers, and then pulls her hand away, curls back up onto her side.  
  
\----  
  
The next day, they go through all the drugs, and throw out everything that Effy’s mum doesn’t still need.  
  
“It’ll be better,” Naomi says, when the toilet’s full of funny, colorful shapes, and Effy’s finger lingers above the short flush button, trembling minutely.  
  
“It can’t get worse,” Effy responds, and pushes down.  
  
\----  
  
They drink tea together downstairs, and Effy butters toast without bloodshot eyes.  
  
“Come over for dinner,” Naomi says, stirring sugar into her tea, passing the spoon over to Effy’s mug.  
  
Effy glances at her warily for a moment, but then just nods.


	4. detective daughter

“I don’t see why we can’t be professional.”  
  
Emily says it so primly that Naomi can’t help but almost laugh. It’s the first sign she’s had since they’ve broken up, or whatever it is that that non-conversation a month and a half ago had been, that she might at some point  _stop_  being ridiculously nostalgic at thoughts of Emily.  
  
Instead, she remembers: Emily Fitch, follows me everywhere,  _well fucking annoying_.  
  
It’s a start.  
  
“I suggest we split up the work in such a way that we can minimize our interaction,” she responds, equally primly, and Emily flushes abruptly when she realizes she’s being mocked.  
  
“Fine,” she then says, and shoves her notebook into her hideous yellow bag before walking off to where Katie is waiting for her.  
  
Naomi ticks down an invisible mark in her mental calendar, and vows to do all the bloody work herself if it means no more repeats of this.  
  
\----  
  
She ends up drafting the questionnaire on Effy’s bed, and watches as Effy watches her.  
  
“Shouldn’t you be doing something?”  
  
Effy smiles and blows some smoke up to the ceiling. “I offered. JJ stammered something about how I was quite wonderful, of course, but perhaps I’d better leave it to him.”  
  
“Ouch,” Naomi says and laughs when Effy just makes a face.  
  
“Is it going all right? Yours, I mean?” Effy asks, and Naomi shrugs.  
  
“We’re trying to be adults about it.”  
  
“Must be hard, when only one of you is one.”  
  
Naomi smiles.  
  
\----  
  
It’s almost easy, to pretend she doesn’t care.  
  
Then Emily gets a text message that lights up her entire face, after the fifth Green party member interview, and Naomi feels her heart convulse with the certain knowledge that up until recently, she was the  _only_  person to ever accomplish that look.  
  
She’d never even tried for it; it had been the result of slightly less resistance more often than not, and here there’s someone sending Emily a text message that—  
  
“Do you mind if we do the rest of these tomorrow? Katie just texted—“  
  
“Whatever,” Naomi says, not even bothering to dismantle the obvious lie; she just heads back to get her bicycle without a backwards glance.  
  
It’s none of her business. It won’t ever be again.  
  
\----  
  
She ends up out by the lake; it’s windy, cold, and as she looks up she thinks it might hail.  
  
She texts Effy after twenty minutes, and then almost laughs when Effy responds with  _haven’t been on a bike in years, if I die you can tell my mum_.  
  
\----  
  
Effy almost plows into a tree, and then lands heavily on the bar below the saddle, winces before bracing herself and whipping a leg around.  
  
“Smooth,” Naomi says, with a small smile, but it’s hard to make it sincere.  
  
Effy rolls her eyes and then looks around curiously. “What is this place?”  
  
“Anywhere,” Naomi responds, and then unfolds the blanket a bit more—it’s been in her purse for months now, she doesn’t think she’s thought of removing it before now—before gesturing at Effy to sit down.  
  
Effy shivers in her too-short dress, far too slight to have any natural protection against the weather, and Naomi almost says something about it but—  
  
“I think she’s seeing someone else.”  
  
Other people would say something like  _already?_  or  _fuck, I’m sorry_ , but not Effy, who just stretches her legs out slowly and leans back on her hands, stares at the lake.  
  
“I like this place. It’s dead, you know? Like it’s not real,” she says, and then looks at Naomi’s bag. “Got any drinks in there.”  
  
Naomi shakes her head, and Effy shivers again before sighing and lying down on her back.  
  
“Cook and Freddie chose each other, when they realized I wasn’t what either of them hoped I would be,” she says, after a long moment.  
  
Naomi stares at the lake and then finally sighs. “What is that, do you think? Why don’t people just accept that we are what we are? Why can’t they _see_  it?”  
  
Effy folds her arms underneath her head and closes her eyes. “They hope there’s hidden depth, something more, if they just try hard enough.”  
  
“Isn’t there?”  
  
Effy’s lips almost smile, but the rest of her doesn’t move. “Whatever it is, it’s not what they want anyway, Naomi.”  
  
Naomi stares at the lake until it starts to hail; then lets the tears come—she doesn’t even understand why they’re there, really—and watches Effy blink rapidly a few times before she sits up and says, “Come on. Let’s get some dinner out of your mum.”  
  
\----  
  
Katie ends up being the one to make the effort.  
  
“She’s not—it’s nothing serious, all right?” she says after History, and Naomi doesn’t even get what she’s saying until Katie shifts and looks out in the hallway, like Emily’s going to show up purely on account of this half-hearted mention.  
  
“Katie. It wasn’t  _working_. What the fuck makes you think I—“  
  
“Oh, please,” Katie says, rolling her eyes.  
  
“I thought you’d be  _happy_ ,” Naomi finally says, and Katie purses her lips before looking at her openly for a moment.  
  
“I did, too.”  
  
\----  
  
“You enabled her,” Effy says, when the discussion’s relayed back at lunch; she gives Effy half a sandwich when it turns out Effy either forgot to bring or make her own lunch. “Now she’s—her own person. I’m not surprised, really.”  
  
“Well, fucking woo hoo,” Naomi says, rolling her eyes, and Effy laughs.  
  
“You should be proud. It’s rare, to have that much of an effect on someone else.”  
  
“Are you  _kidding_  me?”  
  
Effy smiles before taking a bite. “A little. But you know I’m right.”  
  
“Fuck off,” Naomi sulks.  
  
Effy just laughs again. It’s perhaps the only upside—Effy laughing at her, rather a lot—to this entire fucking situation.  
  
\----  
  
She’s mostly asleep already when the phone rings—she grabs for her own blindly but then realizes it’s not hers, it’s Effy’s, and her hand drops off the bed as she just waits.  
  
Tries not to hear the conversation, but can’t pretend to anymore when Effy says, “You  _promised_  you’d be here this year.”  
  
The phone is then thrown to the other side of the room, and is already rolling over when the bed dips, and the door closes softly.  
  
She waits quietly for Effy to come back. When she finally does, it’s with red eyes, and a bottle of wine in her hand.  
  
“It’s almost two and we’ve got college tomorrow, yeah?” she says, softly, and Effy’s lip trembles before she responds.  
  
“So?”  
  
“So, maybe we shouldn’t—I mean, you could just  _talk_ , you know.”  
  
Effy looks at her for a long moment and then sits down on the edge of the bed, shifts until she’s lying down on it and digs her hands into the mattress.  
  
“Does it help?” she finally asks.  
  
Naomi sighs. “Hardly. But it’s got to be better than pretending we’re okay, sometimes.”  
  
“I don’t talk much,” Effy says, her voice cracking on the last word, and it’s all that stops Naomi from going  _duh_.  
  
“It’s okay. I’ve got fuck-all practice at listening, so we can be shit at being normal people together.”  
  
Effy’s smile is tremulous. “I’ll keep that in mind.”  
  
She doesn’t say anything else, but doesn’t reach for the wine either.  
  
Small victories, Naomi thinks, and then rolls onto her back and closes her eyes again.  
  
\----  
  
Effy is restless all night, and finally gets up before the sun even rises.  
  
The bottle of wine stares at Naomi accusingly from the nightstand.  
  
\----  
  
“The drug thing—that’s old, old and new again,” Effy says the next morning; talking fast while buttering toast, almost as if the automatic motions enable her voice in a way that inactivity can’t. “I almost died when I was fifteen; overdosed on pharmaceuticals, not even because I was too fucked up to notice what was happening, really. I volunteered for it. I remember it all very clearly, just standing there and letting them tie my arm off.”  
  
“Jesus,” Naomi says, mouth full of toast, and then swallows it down with some tea.  
  
“When I woke up I was in the hospital. Tony was sitting next to me, crying and apologizing. I’d never seen him like that.”  
  
Naomi hesitates before saying it, but it’s been on her mind for a while now. “Why don’t you talk about him more?”  
  
Effy’s gaze darkens momentarily before she shrugs it off. “He left. We don’t talk much these days.”  
  
“Was that him, last night?”  
  
Effy doesn’t respond, and Naomi feels like a shit for asking.   
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“Whatever,” Effy says after a moment, carefully putting a bit of apricot marmalade on a slice of bread, and then putting it down on her plate again, looking at it like she’s never seen it before. “So I gave up on the drugs, except when casual. For Tony. He made me promise. I kept the promise for most of last year.”  
  
“And you were fine?”  
  
Effy just shoots her a look and Naomi makes a face.  
  
“Fine—what then, if not drugs?”  
  
“Fucking,” Effy says, so plainly that Naomi almost chokes on her breakfast and then has to take a deep breath before she can say anything.  
  
“Right, well.”  
  
“The problem with that is dependency on other people,” Effy says, and then almost smiles before neatly cutting the slice of bread into squares and folding one up before shoving it into her mouth, all at once. “It gets complicated.”  
  
“I think that’s an understatement, in your case.”  
  
“So, if alcohol’s out of the question as well,” Effy says, carefully, when she’s swallowed, and wipes her mouth off with a napkin, “I’m not left with much of anything.”  
  
“I wasn’t lying when I said I  _could_  listen,” Naomi says, and Effy smiles faintly.  
  
“I wasn’t lying when I said I couldn’t talk, either.”  
  
“I won’t stop you again, okay?” Naomi offers, mostly because she can’t figure out what else Effy  _wants_  her to do. “If you want to get fucked up on a school night, just—whatever.”  
  
“That would make you a worse friend than you are,” Effy responds after a second, and then tosses her napkin on her empty plate.  
  
“This is the most you’ve ever talked,” Naomi says when Effy closes the door behind her and they head to college together. “Hands down.”  
  
“Did it help?”  
  
“I’m—it’s supposed to help  _you_ , not me,” Naomi stutters, and then frowns when Effy just smiles.  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
\----  
  
Naomi drops off a bottle of vodka two days later, with a note saying, “sorry I mothered you”.  
  
Effy returns it two days after that, with a note saying, “thanks for giving a shit.”  
  
\----  
  
She meets Emily for lunch, hands over a stack of papers and gets a stack in turn, and they sit together for an entire hour, going over their polling report, the results they were hoping to find, the results they actually obtained.  
  
“So we agree, then. A swing to the right, even in the left-wing parties,” Naomi says, finally, and Emily nods before jotting down a few more notes.  
  
“Do you want to write it up?” she asks, and Naomi shrugs.  
  
“I can.”  
  
“I think it’ll be more powerful if you do. I know how much you care, I mean, it only makes sense.”  
  
Naomi smiles faintly. “I suppose I’ll have to let you get away with assuming you know things about me, this time.”  
  
Emily looks like she can’t decide if Naomi’s picking a fight or just languishing in nostalgia, but then smiles as well. “Or you could just be a cunt. Wouldn’t want me to confuse you with someone else.”  
  
It’s only after Emily’s left—to find Katie somewhere, get the house keys off her—that Naomi realizes just how much getting along hurts; how much worse it is, somehow, than not getting on at all.  
  
\----  
  
She takes Effy out shopping for a coat, after her mum’s urging to just please dress her in something appropriate, and Effy gets as close to sulky as she ever does, trolling through Top Shop, only picking out things that will cover less than thirty percent of her torso.  
  
“I’m sorry, do you need me to explain pneumonia to you or something?” Naomi says, after Effy holds up the third short, thin jacket in a row, and Effy glares at her before hanging it back up.  
  
They finally settle on something that at the very least reaches her waist, and looks padded enough to provide some actual heat.  
  
Effy broods about it the entire rest of the afternoon, when Naomi finally gives up and just rolls her eyes. “You look nice, okay? Jesus.”  
  
“Whatever,” Effy mumbles, but by the time they get back to her room, her face is carefully neutral again.  
  
\----  
  
“I miss sex,” Effy says. They’re having  _a glass_  of wine; it feels ridiculously like playing adult, and after eyeing the bottle for half a minute Naomi tops them up with a sigh.  
  
“How long has it been?”  
  
“Five months,” Effy responds, and then stares at the glass with an indecipherable expression.  
  
“Was it good?”  
  
“No,” Effy says, and sighs. “That’s longer ago.”  
  
“Ought to stop fucking people you don’t care about,” Naomi suggests, and Effy raises her eyebrows faintly.  
  
“Isn’t that what I’m doing?”  
  
“Yeah, I guess it is.”  
  
Effy fingers the rim of the glass until it sings; then stops abruptly, and downs the entire glass in one go. “What about you? Don’t you miss it?”  
  
Naomi shrugs. “Out of everything, that was the only thing that worked. Of course I do.”  
  
Effy just makes a small noise and then hands over the glass. “Cut me off, will you?”  
  
Naomi wordlessly puts the bottle and both glasses on the nightstand, and then lies down as well; watches shadows flit across the ceilings as cars drive in the rain outside.  
  
“Tony isn’t coming home for Christmas. Neither is my dad, obviously. It’s just me and her,” Effy says, after a long moment.  
  
Naomi doesn’t know how to respond; stays still and doesn’t look over, until it becomes clear that maybe Effy isn’t going to say anything else.  
  
“It’s  _always_  been just me and her,” she then offers, and Effy laughs brokenly.  
  
“It’s not the same.”  
  
“It can be.”  
  
Effy exhales shakily and then rubs at her eyes. “Why does it always have to be  _me_? Why can’t  _she_  make it be like it should be?”  
  
“For twelve years, my mum attempted to throw me birthday parties,” Naomi says, a bit later, and then smiles when Effy looks over at her. “Because Ididn’t have any friends, they were filled with her friends. Adults, people I barely knew.” Her smile fades when Effy’s eyes soften. “When I turned thirteen, I asked for a day with her without other people. She thought it was a joke.”  
  
Effy sighs and then pulls her knees up to her chest, closes her eyes. “Family’s shit everywhere, isn’t it.”  
  
“Everything’s shit, everywhere.”  
  
Effy snorts and then blinks rapidly, until the last tears fall onto her cheeks, and Naomi reaches out without thinking, brushes them away.  
  
“You know what’s especially shit?” Effy says after a second, with a distant smile.  
  
“What?”  
  
“This talking thing.”  
  
Naomi laughs, and rolls over onto her stomach. “I’m a sadist. I thought you knew.”  
  
\----  
  
She hears through someone who heard from Katie that Emily just had a fling with some girl she met in a club somewhere, and that it’s not lasting.  
  
“Am I a bad person for—“  
  
“You’re not,” Effy interjects, and then hands her a lit cigarette before shoving her spare hand into her pocket, flicking away ash with the other one.  
  
“I just honestly would feel better if I moved on first,” Naomi confesses, and then sits down on the steps with a sigh. “I feel like a fucking child for it, but it is what it is.”  
  
“We’re all just looking for ways to move on, Naomi,” Effy responds.  
  
“What have we got left? I mean, we’ve done drugs, we’ve done drinking, we’re absolutely awful at talking about stuff, so what does that leave?”  
  
Effy looks down, obviously amused. “That’s a leading question if I’ve ever heard one.”  
  
Naomi blushes. “Christ. That’s not what I meant.”  
  
“Shame,” Effy says. Her smile is entirely ambiguous. “I hear you’re rather excellent at it.”  
  
“Likewise,” Naomi mutters after a beat. “And I’ve got more sources, so.”  
  
Effy laughs and ruffles Naomi’s hair before heading down the stairs, wrapped in her coat, almost unrecognizable from last year in every sense of the word.


	5. crowd surf off a cliff

They stay clean for two weeks.  
  
It almost itches, the complete lack of hiding places around them, and when she looks in the mirror, Naomi hardly recognizes herself anymore; there are new wrinkles set around her mouth, and she approaches them with hesitant fingers, as if touching them will dig them in deeper.  
  
Effy is exhausted, still doesn’t sleep—only sometimes, when Naomi stares at her until her eyes force shut, and even then it’s restless, helplessly ineffective. Even with shadows like caverns under her eyes, though, Effy remains inexplicably stunning.  
  
“It’s not fair,” Naomi tells her one afternoon, when they’re sat downstairs, watching  _Father Ted_ reruns while her mum’s on the phone, yelling about starving children in Africa or fuck knows what.  
  
“What isn’t?”  
  
“Even when you’re a fucking mess, you’re still so … attractive.”  
  
Effy’s smile is wry. “Didn’t your mum ever tell you that real beauty is on the inside?”  
  
Naomi laughs. “Christ. If that’s true, we’re totally fucked, aren’t we.”   
  
\----  
  
December is snowing, freezing, and halfheartedly evaporating all around them.  
  
Effy at some point stops complaining about the coat, and Naomi wonders how many other things could’ve been fixed this easily if someone had just tried a little harder, a little earlier.  
  
“We should get you a scarf as well,” she says, teasingly, when Effy joins her, red-nosed and looking vaguely disgruntled at either the weather or the coat.  
  
All she gets in response is a look, but it’s enough to make the day seem less daunting.  
  
\----  
  
They walk past Cook in the hallway, chatting up a girl Naomi doesn’t recognize—probably new, younger, much more prone to being taken in by him.  
  
Effy doesn’t look away like Naomi would have; just watches it happen until she’d have to start walking backwards to keep tracking, and then doesn’t say anything.  
  
“So what if you care. I mean, it only makes sense,” Naomi says.  
  
Effy looks at her with narrow eyes, narrower lips.  
  
“It’s also okay if you  _don’t_  care,” Naomi adds, and then spots Emily and Katie down the hall, forgets whatever joke she was planning to make afterwards, and wonders if it’s ever going to stop being fucking awkward.  
  
Emily waves tentatively, and after a second she feebly lifts her own hand. Her arm’s never felt heavier.  
  
“So what if you care, right?” Effy says next to her, with not even a hint of satisfaction in the sarcasm.  
  
“Let’s get out of here,” Naomi sighs.   
  
Effy wordlessly leads the way.  
  
\----  
  
They eat ice cream in town.   
  
Haagen-Dasz is ridiculously overpriced, it’s freezing out, and Effy insists on them both needing at least three toppings or “it’s not a proper ice cream outing”.  
  
“You’re fucking crazy,” she finally tells Effy, when her hands feel as frozen as her tongue, and Effy’s just fiddling with the nuts on top of her Pralines & Cream.  
  
Effy just makes a small noise before spooning up a bit more of the molten, disgusting-looking mixture. “My dad used to take me here,” she says aftera bit, and almost smiles. “Without Tony. Tony talked lots, so they noticed him more. But sometimes my dad would take me here, just the two of us, and we’d spend thirty minutes eating ice cream.”  
  
“Sounds like a good tradition.”  
  
“It was,” Effy says, and then spears her little spoon into the sinking ice-cream. “Most things are, until they’re not.”  
  
\----  
  
They head to the park afterwards; watch people unwillingly walk their dogs, watch ducks scatter on frozen-over ponds, watch children pelt each other with snowballs.  
  
“I’m out of hard liquor,” Effy says, abruptly, and Naomi looks at her briefly before watching the kids again.  
  
“I’m sure you know how to get more.”  
  
“I’ve been out for a week.”  
  
“Ah,” Naomi says, and pats Effy’s hand, next to her; jerks when Effy takes hold and then squeezes their freezing fingers together, until Naomi’s knuckles throb with a rush of blood. “For fuck’s sake. A scarf  _and_  gloves, then.”  
  
Effy rolls her eyes, but hangs on.  
  
\----  
  
When they’re finally back at Effy’s, with chattering teeth and soaked feet, Naomi slumps against the door and watches as Effy slips out of her boots, pads over to the window on bare feet on the cold, wooden floor.  
  
“Would it have been worse if it had been Freddie?” she finally asks, and Effy looks over in surprise before lighting a cigarette and looking away again.  
  
“No,” she says.  
  
“You’re over it, then?”  
  
Effy’s lips twist and she rubs at them absently before taking a deep drag. “I fucked up good, but in the end… They didn’t love  _me_. Cook only liked me if I was fucked up, and Freddie only liked me if I wasn’t.”  
  
“You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t both.”  
  
Effy doesn’t respond to that, not immediately, and Naomi pulls off her socks a moment later, settles on Effy’s bed somewhat gingerly; waits for her to say something else, but it doesn’t happen. Effy just silently smokes and then walks around the bed; sits on the edge and looks at Naomi for a long moment.  
  
“You actually get me, don’t you,” Effy says. It’s not a question.  
  
“I don’t think anyone can really  _get_  you unless you let them.”  
  
Effy reaches out abruptly; touches Naomi’s cheek unsurely, and then looks at her questioningly. “Are you there yet?”  
  
“Where?” Naomi asks, confused.  
  
“Wherever. Where  _this_  becomes an option. Us.”  
  
Naomi turns her head away from Effy’s fingertips, but swears she can still feel them, long after Effy’s folded her hands together on her lap, just waits for her to respond.  
  
“It won’t  _solve_  anything.”  
  
Effy smiles knowingly. “Doesn’t mean it won’t  _help_.”  
  
“I just—“ She doesn’t want to say anything childish about love, or feelings, but Effy sees right through her after a minute and shifts in closer, tips her chin up.  
  
“ _You_  were the one who told me to stop fucking people I didn’t care about. Since I can’t fuck my brother, that leaves my best friend, doesn’t it?”  
  
Naomi laughs breathlessly. “Jesus. Only in  _your_  head would that be a logical conclusion.”  
  
Effy smiles at her kindly, just for a beat, before leaning in and pressing a gentle, easy kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Don’t worry about it.”  
  
“No, I mean—“ Naomi says, and then rubs at her forehead, flops down on the bed. “Christ. It’s just a bit much, isn’t it, I mean. I’ve  _never_  thought of you that way.”  
  
“Really,” Effy says, sounding amused.  
  
“What, have  _you?_ ” Naomi asks, and peers at Effy through her hands.  
  
Effy shrugs noncommittally. “The mind wanders sometimes…”  
  
“Oh, fuck off,” Naomi snaps, when she realizes Effy is teasing her, and then rolls away from her. “Jesus, it’s not funny. To you this might just be adiversion, but I might  _actually_  be gay.”  
  
“Why the fuck would that matter? It’s not like you’re in love with me.”  
  
“Yeah, but—“  
  
“Naomi, you’re thinking too much about something that’s meant to be about  _not_  thinking. Just forget it, okay?”  
  
She stops talking then, but hours later, washing off dinner plates next to her mum, she flashes back to it, and suddenly feels like she’s failed at beinga best friend.  
  
Then she remembers what Effy’s suggested act of friendship  _was_ , and flushes violently before reminding herself that  _Effy’s_  the one who’s nuts, and declining was the rational, mature thing to do.  
  
\----  
  
Emily is hiding behind her locker door a few days later; almost like Naomi had been that day when Emily had come to college dressed as Katie, and it’s so wrong, the way her chest pulses with muted happiness just thinking of the way they’d totally lost themselves in each other back then, before it had all turned to shit again.  
  
“Can we talk?” Emily says, and the reminder of what her voice sounds like when she’s trying—husky, softened—makes Naomi wish she could have at least five shots of vodka before agreeing.  
  
There’s something about Emily that has always meant yes, though, even when every part of her was  _screaming_  no. It’s a foregone conclusion.  
  
They pass by Effy on the way out; Naomi ignores her raised eyebrows.  
  
\----  
  
“I miss you,” Emily says, and Naomi feels her heart stop; looks at Emily in total astonishment until Emily blushes and stammers, “I mean, sorry. I phrased that poorly. I just—I wish we could be friends. You’re rather funny when you’re not trying to be mean, and I always meant it when I said that I’d like to be your friend. It’s still true now.”  
  
“We can’t be friends,” Naomi says after a long time. Snow has blended into Emily’s hair; she can see it from the corner of her eye and aches to brush it off, but it’s second in the list of things she can’t do now.  
  
“Oh,” Emily says, and looks horribly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I thought—“  
  
“Just—I need time, Ems. You really—“ Naomi starts to say, and then feels her throat lock up around whatever follows;  _did a number on me_ ,  _fucked me up_ , there’s hundreds of ways to put it, but regardless, she comes out the loser. “I just don’t think I can handle it.”  
  
Emily nods and swallows visibly, before rubbing at her nose. “Fuck. This was a stupid idea. I just honestly don’t know what to do, I mean, it’s—“  
  
“Who was she?” Naomi then asks, because when the pain is this fresh, this sharp all over again, she can’t imagine it hurting more.  
  
“Who?” Emily asks, confused.  
  
“That girl you fucked like,  _one month_  after ending things with me.”  
  
Emily flinches and then gets angry; literally blossoms under it. “Not that it’s  _any_  of your business, but I didn’t  _fuck_  her; she ended things with me after two dates because I couldn’t stop talking about my ex-girlfriend.”  
  
“You think we should get back together,” Naomi says, after she’s almost bitten through her lip. “This is you proposing friendship when you really want more all over again, isn’t it?”  
  
Emily doesn’t respond, but her eyes are suspiciously shiny and she’s looking anywhere but at Naomi.  
  
“And  _what_ , exactly, makes you think it would be different now? What’s changed?”  
  
“I don’t understand how I can love you this much and not  _be_  with you,” Emily says, sounding choked up, and then runs her arm past her eyes. “It just doesn’t seem right.”  
  
“It is what it is, Ems,” Naomi says, and feels her heart shred to pieces when Emily sniffles once and then nods.  
  
“I just—I think I needed to—we didn’t get a chance to say anything, really, when—“  
  
“I know,” Naomi interjects, and then covers Emily’s hand with her own for a few seconds. “You don’t have to explain.”  
  
Emily disappears inside after a while, and Naomi spends another hour outside, until her extremities burn with such intent cold that it’s all she can feel.  
  
Effy finds her then, and takes off her coat; wraps it around Naomi’s shoulders. “You okay?”  
  
Naomi shakes her head and then clenches her teeth together, forbids herself from crying.  
  
“Nae,” Effy says, softly, and puts a hand on Naomi’s arm, so lightly she only knows it’s there because she can see it. “It  _will_  help. I promise.”  
  
“I’ll be thinking about her the entire time,” Naomi finally says, closing her eyes and wondering if she’s making yet another terrible mistake.  
  
Effy sounds like she’s smiling, but it’s hard to tell. “You won’t, but it doesn’t matter if you do, okay?”  
  
She nods, and watches as Effy catches a snowflake on her tongue.  
  
\----  
  
With Emily it had been all  _it’s just the drugs, right?_ and then  _we’re in this place that barely feels real, and nobody will know_  and then  _I can do this, but only if we don’t talk about it_  until finally it was all they did.  
  
Effy just pulls her dress over her head and then reaches for the buttons on Naomi’s shirt, pops them open efficiently, pushes the shirt off her shoulders, and then takes a step back, sighs.  
  
“You better do your own bra. All I remember from the last time is that I’m  _shit_  at removing them.”  
  
Naomi laughs, even though her throat hurts and her eyes burn, and then offers, “Would you like me to do yours, while I’m at it?”  
  
“If you like,” Effy responds, moves in closer so that Naomi can reach.  
  
She catches a whiff of that same gender-neutral scent that had surprised her a few days ago, and this time can’t help herself. “How long have you been using his soap?”   
  
She’s not even entirely sure who  _he_  is, but it doesn’t matter when Effy just leans back, raises her eyebrows.  
  
“How long have you been using hers?”  
  
Naomi rolls her eyes. “I’m  _not_.”  
  
“Not yet,” Effy says, without malice, and then puts her hands on Naomi’s hips; reaches for her zip on her skirt, pushes it down slowly, until finally the fabric just flutters down to the ground.  
  
“Are we really doing this?” Naomi asks, looking down at the clothing piled on her feet, and then back up; watches her own hands snake around Effy’s back, slip under a clasp and thumb it open.  
  
“It’s not too late to stop,” Effy says, and then runs her hands up Naomi’s sides; it’s a complete and utter contradiction, made even more ludicrous when Effy adds, “I’ve always wanted to play  _Clue_  in my knickers, so just let me know.”  
  
“Cunt,” Naomi says with a smile, and then looks into Effy’s eyes—finally can see how tired she is, how poorly she’s hiding the amount of pain she’s in, and sighs. “Got any mood music?”  
  
Effy smiles.  
  
\----  
  
They fuck to Little Richard.  
  
It’s almost an out of body experience, because at least five percent of Naomi’s brain is consistently removed from the entire affair, looking at it all froma place next to bed and going,  _I can’t believe this is happening_.  
  
She can’t help but think of Emily for a bit when Effy’s touching her, until Effy pinches her in the side sharply and stares her down, works quick, agile fingers between her legs, and all she knows as her thoughts slip away from her completely is  _blue, so fucking blue_.  
  
Emily isn’t an issue in the return. Breasts are smaller, legs are longer, hips are narrower, face more angular, eyes blue, hair brown, and expression encouragingly neutral. It’s such a relief that Naomi feels herself get wet all over again at the differences, and then focuses on the lazy complacence on Effy’s face when she’s fingering her; like a quick handjob was all Effy was expecting, and like she’s not doing enough to make  _both_ of them forget.  
  
She goes down on her with infinite patience, knows it’s on the verge of torture when Effy’s heels dig into her back and she gasps out, “fuck” so helplessly that Naomi almost laughs. Minutes later, Effy arches off the bed, thighs trembling, still swallowing whimpers when Naomi shifts back up.  
  
Effy’s eyes are calm; sleepy, rather than tired, for the first time in weeks, and Naomi kisses her forehead on impulse. “All right?”  
  
“Sure,” Effy responds, and shifts on the pillow as her eyes flutter closed.  
  
Naomi shrugs into her blouse; lights a cigarette, smokes it by the window. When she’s done, Effy’s rolled over onto her side, arms folded under the pillow, deeply asleep.  
  
Naomi finds a copy of  _The Odyssey_  on Effy’s desk, and settles on the bed to read it.  
  
\----  
  
She’s smoked three more fags, read a hundred pages by the time Effy shifts, blinking up at her before stretching slowly.  
  
Naomi smiles, and then wonders what’s so out of place, until she realizes that she’s not even a little bit panicked. It’s been an hour, maybe two, and she’s not had a single impulse to run, nor a single thought of Emily; and she doesn’t know what to do with that, other than conclude that maybe, Effy just knows what the fuck she’s talking about.  
  
“Ah. The death book,” Effy murmurs, and then traces a finger down the cover.  
  
“The what?” Naomi asks, as Effy rolls leans over the edge of the bed, finds her dress and slips it back on.  
  
“Nevermind,” Effy says, and then directs an assessing look at Naomi. “Do you get it, now?”  
  
“Yeah,” Naomi says, after a moment. “I’m—don’t worry.”  
  
“Do you want her back?” Effy asks, after she’s lit and smoked half a fag.  
  
“That’s an odd thing to ask me after we’ve just fucked,” Naomi responds, before flipping the page.  
  
“Fucking’s just fucking.”  
  
“The answer’s no, in any event. It didn’t work.”  
  
“Not a big fan of second chances, then?”  
  
“Not when nothing’s changed,” Naomi says.   
  
Only when she's said it out loud does it become real, and it feels pretty fucking final.  
  
\----  
  
They smoke and read in silence until Naomi’s phone rings, breaks apart the illusion of separateness completely.  
  
Still, Naomi concedes, it worked better than all the drugs combined.  
  
“Come over for dinner?” she asks, when she’s borrowed a pair of socks and slipped her shoes—still soaking wet—back on.  
  
“Not today,” Effy responds carefully, and then shifts forward, kisses Naomi on the lips in a way that would be friendly if not for the fact that she can probably still taste herself. “Some other time, yeah?”  
  
“Sure; whenever, really,” Naomi says, after a second, and then watches the ghost of a smile flit across Effy’s face.


	6. the lottery

The second time is somehow more awkward than the first.   
  
There’s five minutes ago, when they were watching a movie together—and maybe there’d been a hint of something in Effy’s eyes, just at a few parts, but it hadn’t been at all like the first time, when Naomi had been trying so hard not to feel anything  _bad_  that she’d latched onto the first  _good_  alternative—and then there’s now, and she’s watching from the bed as Effy undresses clinically, not a single movement put on or lacking in efficiency.  
  
Bed and telly were separated by Effy pressing a button and then saying, “Let’s fuck.”  
  
“This is a bit fucking weird,” she says, when Effy’s down to her knickers.  
  
Effy doesn’t turn around, just observes, “You didn’t seem to think so last time.”  
  
“No, because—well.” She sighs. “With Emily it was always so, you know, fucking  _urgent_ , like I just couldn’t help myself. It was like that a bit last time. This feels like a business transaction.”  
  
“Ugh,” Effy says, and then crawls on the bed, shifts up until they’re more or less face to face. “Of  _course_  it’s not going to be like it was with Emily. You’re being daft.”  
  
“Yeah, but, doesn’t the transition fuck you up? From  _Monty Python_  to this, in like, nanoseconds?”  
  
“Stop thinking so much,” Effy chastises mildly, and then pulls on the hem of Naomi’s shirt.  
  
“Sorry,” Naomi says, grudgingly, and then rolls over onto her back, starts unbuttoning her own shirt. “I just—“  
  
“Would you like some music? Will that help?” Effy asks, almost mockingly, but Naomi knows her well enough that with a simple  _yes_  she’d slip off thebed, take care of it.  
  
“'Help', Christ. For future reference, my mum loves classic rock. She was listening to Little Richard when ironing a few days ago and I almost had a heart attack when I finally realized where I knew the song she was singing from.”  
  
Effy laughs. “Unfortunate.”  
  
“Yeah, well,” Naomi says, and shrugs out of her shirt; drops it off the side of the bed, and when she turns back, Effy’s moved in closer, is almost on top of her.  
  
Effy places a flat hand on Naomi’s abdomen and then almost smiles—mostly with her eyes. “You need foreplay, don’t you.”  
  
“Uh, doesn’t everyone?”  
  
Effy rolls her eyes.  
  
“I really don’t—“  
  
Naomi’s lack of comprehension teeters when Effy kisses her, softly and shallowly, just for a moment, but she doesn't know what to make of it. Not really.  
  
“I still don’t—“  
  
“You’ll relax if we just neck for a bit first,” Effy states, and Naomi just blinks at her until she smiles. “It’s fine, I don’t mind.”  
  
“Right,” Naomi responds, almost automatically, and watches as Effy pushes a strand of hair off her face, then leans in and kisses her again.  
  
\----  
  
She’s almost aching to come by the time Effy decides they’ve ‘necked’ enough, and almost says something about it, but then Effy runs a hand through her own hair—wild, ridiculous, like a mane—and looks down, curiously and determinedly all at once, and Naomi’s brain stumbles over the thought completely.  
  
“You don’t have to,” she says, somewhat insincerely, when Effy looks back up.  
  
“Shut up,” Effy responds, and slithers further down the bed.  
  
\----  
  
It’s easier after that.  
  
They work out a compromise on the necking—Naomi needs a  _bit_ , Effy enjoys a  _lot_ , though she refuses to cop to it—and slip into a comfortable balance of hanging out and fucking.  
  
“Told you it would sort itself out,” Effy tells her, looking tired but vaguely satisfied, one afternoon when they’ve skipped Politics and holed themselves up in Naomi’s bedroom.  
  
“Still think we should’ve talked about it,” Naomi replies, stubbornly, and laughs when Effy rolls her eyes.  
  
\----  
  
Her mum picks up on  _something_ , but it’s the wrong thing.  
  
“I think this makes sense,” she says, very casually, one morning over breakfast. “Emily was such an outgoing, optimistic girl; it always struck me as a bit odd, you know, that you two fancied each other. But this…”  
  
Naomi laughs, and watches from the corner of her eye as Effy gingerly puts her coffee cup back down on the table. “Mum, we’re not—Effy’s not gay.”  
  
“Oh,” her mum says, and then looks at them both. “I could’ve sworn—“  
  
“We have sex occasionally,” Effy says, and then just smiles when Naomi kicks her in the shin, hard. “It helps with the isolation and pessimism, obviously.”  
  
Naomi watches her mum's face shift go from confused to shocked, until she finally laughs. “I’ll rephrase; I can see how you get on with Naomi, given that you’re  _also_  a little shit.”  
  
Effy smiles and goes back to her pancakes.  
  
\----  
  
“Thanks a lot,” Naomi mumbles dourly, watching as Effy reapplies some make-up.  
  
“Your mum’s cool. I figured she’d be able to handle it.”  
  
“Right, so you won’t mind if I head over to yours and return the favor right now?” Naomi asks, rolling her eyes.  
  
Effy’s hand jerks just enough for a small dot to appear next to her eye. “Go right ahead. I doubt she’d understand, let alone care.”  
  
Maybe it’s just that she’s seen Effy naked a few times now, but she pricks right through the pretense; just directs a look at her in the mirror and waits for Effy to lower her eyes, flicking through Naomi’s eyeshadows until she’s found something she likes.  
  
“It’s fine,” she finally says, and conjures up a half-smile from somewhere. “We’re just fucking, so why should she care.”  
  
Naomi doesn’t respond, but isn’t surprised when within a minute, Effy’s climbed on top of her, straddled her legs and pinned her to the bed. She finds herself kissing off most of the make-up Effy’s applied before rubbing her through her knickers, leaving her sighing and sticky with just minutes to spare before they have to go to college.  
  
It doesn’t solve anything, Naomi reminds herself, running her fingers along Effy’s cheek until they brush past her mouth. But it always,  _always_  helps.  
  
\----  
  
Sometimes the line blurs on  _need to_  and  _want to_.  
  
Naomi’s never quite sure if it’s just ego that motivates her on those occasions, that makes her try and try and try until Effy just can’t pretend to be okay anymore, strains up against her hands and mouth with such abandon that Naomi ends up almost envious, because letting go has never been—will never be—that easy for her.  
  
Maybe it’s that whole weird blend of caring and not caring that they’re trapped under—friends, not lovers, both—but either way, when she sees theinvoluntary imprint of teeth Effy’s bottom lip, complemented by the flush on her cheeks and the way her eyelids tremble, she can’t help but feel like she’s done something that nobody else has.  
  
\----  
  
Emily leaves a present for her in her locker, just days before Christmas, and Naomi feels her heart ache, thinks about changing the combination, and then shakes the present just to make sure it’s not a joke from Katie, but the handwriting’s a sure tell; rounded and soft, like many other things she doesn’t get to experience anymore.  
  
Effy is all angles. She finds her over lunch and drags her behind the building, kisses her angrily and waits for the tell-tale shift in Effy’s eyes before tugging down her own knickers just enough to make it clear where this is going, what this is.  
  
She comes with brick-scrapes all along her back, where her camisole can’t cover them; with Effy’s hand pinning her in place, forcing her to forget. It’s almost on command these days.  
  
\----  
  
“It’s not healthy,” she says, later that day, rubbing some lotion on her shoulder before Effy sighs and takes over. “What we did today. What  _I_  wanted from you today.”  
  
“So what?” Effy asks. “Would not doing it make you  _better_ , somehow?”  
  
Naomi doesn’t have a response.  
  
\----  
  
They don’t see each other much around Christmas.  
  
It’s only on Boxing Day, when her mum asks gently what Effy’s family like, that she realizes it might be the opposite of invasive to at least go check.  
  
\----  
  
She wraps herself into a coat, considers cycling, but ends up taking the bus when it’s damn near storming outside.  
  
Effy’s bedroom is dark; it’s a sign of something, but Naomi can’t interpret it easily.   
  
Effy’s mum opens the door. “Oh, Naomi, hello,” she says, sounding almost lucid—as lucid as Naomi’s ever seen her. “Effy’s upstairs, you know.”  
  
“Thanks,” she says and dusts off her shoulders, shakes off snow before hanging her coat on the rack and counting every step backwards.  
  
She can hear Little Richard again; more faintly this time, like a memory, and she has to knock twice before Effy calls out, “I’ll be down in a while.”  
  
“It’s me,” Naomi responds, and then watches as the door swings open; Effy’s already back in bed by the time she’s stepped inside, and after one long look she takes off her shoes and slips into bed, under the covers, next to her.  
  
“All right?” she then asks, stupidly, and watches as Effy curls up a little bit more, before shrugging half-heartedly.  
  
She’s already zipping down her skirt when she realizes she’s being ridiculous—that  _this_  is ridiculous, not knowing how to be a friend without taking off her knickers, or maybe even just defaulting to sex because it’s so much easier than dealing.  
  
She doesn’t like being a coward, and so she tugs on Effy’s shoulder until Effy rolls onto her back, stares at her defiantly with eyes that don’t reveal a thing.  
  
“C’mon,” Naomi says, softly, and tugs one more time.  
  
It takes Effy almost two whole minutes to relent, and when Naomi’s finally wrapped an arm around her, she wonders when the last time was that anyone bothered giving Effy a hug.  
  
\----  
  
Effy never explains what was wrong; just eventually lets Naomi drag her out of bed, out of her house, and then over to Naomi’s, where she’s handed a plate her leftover turkey with stuffing that she looks at with an inscrutable expression before digging in.  
  
Naomi and her mum exchange just one glance, but then Naomi presses her lips together and shakes her head. Her mum nods, disappears for a few minutes, and then comes back with a rectangular package that she puts down in front of Effy.  
  
Effy blinks at it and then looks up; swallows, swallows again, and then finally mumbles, “I didn’t—“  
  
“Don’t worry about it, love,” her mum says, and then for one horrifying second Naomi thinks she might lean in and ruffle Effy’s hair, but it doesn’t come to pass. “I was cleaning out the study and thought of you.”  
  
The lie’s obvious to Naomi, who knows her mum wouldn’t voluntarily clean fuck-all, least of all around Christmas time, but Effy seems to accept it at face value and then gingerly pulls apart sellotape, unfolds the wrapping paper, and then laughs—sounds surprised into it—when she produces a copy of  _Twilight of the Idols_.  
  
“Oh, Christ,” Naomi says, and then also laughs.  
  
“Perhaps you can read it to each other in bed,” her mum says, with a wink, and then takes Effy’s plate to the sink.  
  
\----  
  
When they get upstairs, Effy looks at the book for a little while longer and then finally turns to Naomi, with such a serious expression on her face that Naomi doesn’t dare say anything.  
  
“Your mum’s  _cool_ ,” Effy says, emphatically, and when Naomi nods after a second, Effy reaches out—jangling bracelets, sure fingers—and fingers thecollar to Naomi’s shirt.  
  
“Not tonight, okay?” Naomi says, and brushes Effy’s hand off gently. “It’s Christmas.”  
  
Effy’s eyes harden for a moment, but then she relents; rolls onto her back and rubs at her face. “Whatever.”  
  
Naomi rolls her eyes but then leans over the edge of the bed; picks up two boxes, and puts them on Effy’s stomach. “Here, you moody cunt.”  
  
Effy glances down tiredly and then chuckles. “Can we at least fucking drink?”  
  
\----  
  
They play near-nude  _Cluedo_  three times, until it gets late and cold and Effy ends up grudgingly wrapping the scarf around her neck, which is so ridiculous looking—would be even if they weren’t drunk—that Naomi almost spits out a mouthful of vodka before clearing her throat.  
  
“Mrs. Peacock, in the bedroom, with the rope.”  
  
“We already ruled out the rope,” Effy says.  
  
Naomi grins. “I bet you don’t say that too often.”  
  
“Thought we weren’t going there tonight,” Effy responds, rolling the die and heading into the study.  
  
“So did I,” Naomi says, and tugs on Effy’s scarf. “But who knows. Maybe we can do it just because we’re friends, you know. Not just to forget.”  
  
Effy’s staring at her game cards and then finally stares at Naomi a bit. “That sounds like it might mean something, Naomi.”  
  
Naomi smiles and drops the vodka onto the mattress, then trails her hand down the scarf until her fingers knot in the end. “Do you honestly think it ever meant  _nothing_?”  
  
Effy doesn’t answer for a long time, but then finally puts down her cards with a sigh. “It’s Professor Plum, bathroom, candlestick.”  
  
“How long have you known?”  
  
“Hard to say,” Effy says, and then sweeps the board off the bed; they’re already kissing when the near-rainfall of clattering board pieces stops.  
  
\----  
  
When she wakes up, Effy is reading; tracing her finger over one line in the book, over and over again.  
  
“Christ. Can’t imagine reading that helps with headaches.”  
  
Effy looks over for a second, then folds the book down on the bed. “I’ll get you some coffee.”  
  
“Cheers,” Naomi mumbles, and then stretches before curiously reaching for Nietzsche, wondering what it was that Effy read.  
  
She ends up reading five pages beyond where Effy was, who looks at her with a hint of amusement. “Thought you had a headache.”  
  
“Maybe I just like coffee better when I don’t have to get it myself,” Naomi says, flipping back to the correct page.  
  
Effy sits down on the bed, takes the book from Naomi’s hands, and then looks at her seriously.  
  
“If this starts to actually be more than just—“ She doesn’t continue, and Naomi doesn’t look at her before reaching for the mug on her nightstand.  
  
They sit together in silence as Naomi drinks her coffee, burns her tongue on it, and then finally sighs. “We’re not the same person, you and I, and I think sometimes being a friend means something different to me than it does to you.”  
  
“And that’s all?” Effy asks.  
  
“No; actually, now that you mention it, I’ve seen the light, yeah, and every time I look at you my heart goes pitter-patter in my chest,” Naomi responds, not even bothering to roll her eyes. “And for the record? Some of us like sugar and milk in our coffee. I feel like I’m being decalked just drinking this. Jesus.”  
  
Effy smiles after a second. “All right then,” she says, lightly.  
  
“Really, how fucking irresistible do you think you are?” Naomi asks a few minutes later, when Effy’s turned back to Nietzsche and her coffee’s gone cold.  
  
“Everybody loves me,” Effy says, humorlessly, and Naomi feels like a tit for thinking that maybe, at any point, they could stop coming together out of hurt at all.  
  
“Whatever,” she says, and closes her eyes.


	7. the maid needs a maid

It’s probably too late, really, to make a difference, but Naomi insists.  
  
“Look, you’re the one who brought it up in the first place,” she argues, when Effy refuses to budge and refuses to comment. “All  _warn me if this becomes a real thing_.”  
  
“Yeah, and?”  
  
“Well, what does that mean to you?”  
  
Effy sighs and sits up, lights a cigarette and then tosses the pack over to Naomi, all the way on the other side of the bed. “It means that we care.”  
  
“Ah. Well, thanks, Effy. All clear, now.”  
  
Effy exhales slowly and then stares at a spot beyond Naomi’s shoulder. “If I told you it had to stop, how would you feel?”  
  
Naomi blinks. “I don’t know. What’s the reason?”  
  
“That shouldn’t matter,” Effy says, sharply.  
  
“Really,” Naomi says, and laughs. “So if I told you to fuck off tomorrow because I’d rather fuck a bed of nails than ever see you again, you wouldn’t bethe slightest bit offended."  
  
Effy just levels her with a completely dispassionate stare before taking a deep drag, letting the smoke drift out of her mouth slowly.  
  
“You’re such a fucking tragedy, you know that?” Naomi says, rolling her eyes, and then pokes Effy in the shin. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that there’s degrees of caring? And they’re not all fucking horrible?”  
  
Effy doesn’t respond; just finishes her cigarette and lies back down, closes her eyes.  
  
\----  
  
The conversation, unsuccessful and aborted, fucks things up completely.  
  
Naomi suggests going to the cinema and Effy only very reluctantly agrees to do it when Naomi snaps that she’s just bored. Effy wants to stop for food afterwards and Naomi makes a lousy joke about dinner and a movie, and seconds later, instead of getting ice cream, Effy’s walking off, middle finger extended, demonstrably not giving a fuck.  
  
They don’t talk for a week.  
  
By then, Naomi’s totally fed up with this new, ridiculous development, and heads over. Effy is distant, doesn’t respond to verbal cues, and in the end they end up fucking because it’s better than not communicating at all. Still, Naomi can’t help herself; leaves Effy hanging on the edge of orgasm, draws her hand back and stares at her. “This  _stops_  if we can’t still be friends, too.”  
  
“I fucking knew you were up to something,” Effy hisses, digging her nails into Naomi’s shoulder. “Fine. Whatever.” It comes out with an eyeroll and abuck of her hips, and it doesn’t seem like it’s enough agreement really; doesn’t seem like Effy gets what the actual issue is.  
  
“I know I’m not your fucking girlfriend, but I’m not going to be treated like some dirty fucking secret. I mean, Jesus. If you didn’t mind being seen in public with  _Cook_ , you can damn well be seen in public with me,” Naomi snaps, and Effy’s fingers grow slack in degrees. She looks positively baffled.  
  
“Yeah, of course,” she finally says, almost meekly, and then reaches up and rubs at her forehead. “This isn’t a goer anymore. Get off, will you?”  
  
Naomi rolls onto her back with a sigh. “Christ. Your own fucking fault.”  
  
“ _My_ fault?” Effy repeats, sharply. “That you brought this up in the middle of sex?”  
  
“No, that I brought it up  _at all,_ you retard. You act like I’m fucking proposing when I suggest we leave the sodding house. Like I’m going to want to hold your hand, or make out with you on park benches or something,” Naomi says, and Effy’s mouth sets.  
  
“Yeah, well. It’s hard to tell sometimes, just to what extent I’m substituting.”  
  
“Oh, fuck off, Eff,” Naomi says, wearily, and then starts pulling her clothing back on.  
  
She’s already halfway down the stairs when she turns around; opens the door so abruptly that she still spots Effy by the window, looking out of it as if to watch her go, before she turns around and carefully hides whatever she’s thinking.  
  
“For the record: if you  _were_  substituting, you’d be doing a rather piss-poor job of it. You’re a much bigger cunt than Emily could ever be.”  
  
Effy’s smile’s borderline vicious. “I’ll try harder. Hypothetically.”  
  
“Ugh,” Naomi says, and slams the door shut again.  
  
\----  
  
 _Sorry. Cinema later?_  
  
She’s not even halfway home yet. Wishes there was some way to denote an eye roll in text messages.  
  
\----  
  
They balance out again after that.  
  
Naomi starts to think of it as a permanent stasis, where she has this friend—a good friend—who sometimes is just a bit more, but it’s illusionary, separate from the real world, where friends is all they’ll ever be.  
  
Effy eats dinner with them frequently. It’s changing the boundaries and shapes of Naomi’s life, that inclusion, but when she thinks about what she’ll miss, when the year ends and she heads off to London, it’s the implicit understanding and the lack of expectation. No more, no less.  
  
\----  
  
College returns, with a vengeance.  
  
In assembly, she doesn’t spot Emily at first; then only spots her when she spots Katie, and has to look twice before realizing that Emily’s right next to her, but her hair’s shorter, darker. Emily’s looking back at her, and it feels like a repeat of last year, except she doesn’t know what her role is.  
  
Effy sits down next to her and glances over quickly. “It suits her.”  
  
“Yeah,” Naomi agrees. She doesn’t add that it feels like the divorce is final, at last.  
  
\----  
  
Freddie, of all people, finds her after class; corners her ineffectively, but somehow she doesn’t have it in her to be as big a twat to him as she would’ve been to Cook in the same scenario, like Effy’s muted pity is blending into her own feelings, second-hand and unwelcome.  
  
“You’re friends, aren’t you?” he asks, awkwardly, and she stares at him—annoyance increasing by the second—until he clarifies, “You and Eff.”  
  
She shrugs. “Sure, Freddie. What is it you wanted, exactly?”  
  
“Just—is she all right? I haven’t—I mean, it’s not—“  
  
 _If this is what I’m like around Emily, I’m offing myself_ , she thinks, and then sighs. “Freddie. You didn’t want her. Why the fuck are you asking?”  
  
He looks completely stunned, and then his face hardens. “Is that what she told you?”  
  
Naomi just rolls her eyes and walks off. Ignores his comment, has to ignore it, because wondering might be a bit too close to caring for comfort.  
  
\----  
  
“Your boyfriend sought me out today,” she tells Effy later, over alcopops in Effy’s kitchen, watching as Effy does the dishes haphazardly—lacking asystem, slow as a consequence.  
  
“Which one?” Effy asks, sounding amused.  
  
“Pathetic, can’t take no for an answer. Wanted to know how you’re doing. Implied heavily that he didn’t end it, also.”  
  
Effy’s shoulders tighten for a second. “That what he said?”  
  
“Yep,” Naomi says. The alcopop’s strawberry flavored; it reminds her of Emily, the old Emily, and makes her want to vomit. She switches it out for Effy’s, revels in the tang of lime.  
  
“And you believed him?” Effy asks, stiffly.  
  
“Just passing on a message.”  
  
Effy pushes off against the counter; lets her head hang, and then stays totally silent.  
  
Naomi puts the bottle back down, sighs. “The one thing I don’t get is why you’d lie. Like, why you think it makes a difference, who ended it.”  
  
When Effy turns around, her eyes are shiny. “Because it’s so much more fucked up to admit that I couldn’t handle someone caring that much than to pretend he couldn’t handle how fucked up I was.”  
  
“Yeah, but,” Naomi says, and then shoves both drinks to Effy’s side of the table; watches as she finishes them off in under a minute. “It’s  _me_. Hi, I spent an entire fucking year running away from someone who just wanted me to be less lonely.”  
  
“I don’t think I can be fixed by someone like Freddie,” Effy says.  
  
“No, I don’t think you can, either,” Naomi responds, and gets up. “Let’s get some air. We’ll pretend the wind’s stinging your eyes.”  
  
“Fuck you,” Effy says, and when they’re shrugging on their coats, Naomi pretends to not see how she uses the scarf to wipe her eyes, but then gives up the pretense when Effy ends up smearing mascara everywhere.  
  
She licks at her thumb, smoothes it over Effy’s cheek, and watches as Effy flinches.  
  
“I don’t think you need it,” she says, looking at her blackened thumb. “Fixing, like he wants to.”  
  
“I know you don’t,” Effy says, with a small, knowing smile. “That’s why you’re just as fucked up as I am.”  
  
\----  
  
Panda and Effy finally make up a week later, and Effy gets invited to a rave that Thomas is organizing somewhere in town.  
  
“You should come,” she says over lunch, smiling like she knows she’s suggesting something ridiculous.  
  
“Yeah, no thank you,” Naomi responds, and they laugh.  
  
“Why  _did_  you come to all those things last year? Katie was a cunt, Emily was pathetic, and I had Panda.”  
  
Naomi fidgets and then sighs. “The same reason I kept Emily’s secret for two sodding years while her sister made my life so much fucking harder than it had to be.”  
  
“Love the ones you’re meant to hate, huh,” Effy says, sounding very much elsewhere, and Naomi smiles wryly.  
  
“Something like that.”  
  
Effy looks off into the distance and then rubs at her arm, just for a second. “I wish someone else would make me promise.”  
  
“Promise what?”  
  
“To not go completely off the tracks.”  
  
Naomi spends a minute wondering if it’s a trap, and then pinches Effy’s cigarette; smokes it up and throws it away. “Dear Effy; please don’t almost die again. Love, Naomi.”  
  
Effy shoots her an amused look. “Heartfelt.”  
  
“What, were you expecting me to be serious? God. Do what you like,” Naomi says, crabbily.  
  
“You’re sweet,” Effy says, and kisses her on the cheek, so quickly that it almost feels imaginary.  
  
\----  
  
The night of the rave, she watches two episodes of  _Planet Earth_  with her mum; then watches two more when her mum peters off to bed, and finally tunes into a Star Trek reruns on Virgin +1 at midnight.  
  
It’s only when she remembers that Star Trek is retarded that she realizes what she’s doing.  
  
“Fucking hell,” she mutters, and then heads up to bed.  
  
\----  
  
Effy texts her at four.  
  
 _Still alive. Keyed up; tried you first, but have alternatives. ???_  
  
It’s the most ludicrously blatant thing anyone has  _ever_  texted or said to her,  _ever_ , which is why it’s even more ridiculous that her gut reaction is to respond with  _come on over_.  
  
\----  
  
“I didn’t realize you were fucking other people,” Naomi says, in boxers, a vest and socks at the door, and Effy laughs brightly, eyes so wide and dizzy that Naomi sighs and resigns herself to asking again in the morning, but then Effy leans forward, clutches her vest and presses a kiss to her chin.  
  
“I’m not,” she murmurs; bites down a second later, and Naomi grabs the doorframe just in time to stop them both from falling down. “But I shouldn’t say that.”  
  
“Say what?” Naomi asks, teetering dangerously when Effy’s lips shift again, discomfiting in their unintended accuracy.  
  
“That I don’t want to fuck other people.” It’s almost less than a whisper, entirely breathless, and Effy follows it by pulling back, shushing loudly, finger pressed to her lips.  
  
Naomi wonders how much of this Effy will remember.  
  
\----  
  
It’s damn near impossible to not stare at Effy’s face, her unfocused, shifty eyes, and look for some hidden meaning in what’s happening between them.  
  
The weird thing is that nothing much changes, except in Naomi’s head; Effy uses her teeth unexpectedly, drags Naomi out of her thoughts every time they threaten to overwhelm her, but Christ, she’s not usually being stopped from thinking about Effy  _herself_ , about stupid, fucked up statements that threaten to unravel everything they’ve established.  
  
And then Effy pulls on her hair, sharply. “Go down on me,” she demands, follows it up with a smile and a push-pull of her hips, and Naomi doesn’t havea fucking clue how to say no to her, how to process any of the things that come out of Effy’s mouth when she least expects them to.  
  
Effy bites down on her hand when she comes, with a small cry, and then rolls them over almost immediately, is still panting and trembling when she searches for Naomi’s mouth—blindly, hungrily.  
  
“Yes,” she breathes into the kiss, a while later, and Naomi finally gives up; thinks  _yes_  for a while, then stops thinking altogether.  
  
\----  
  
She doesn’t sleep well.  
  
“Who were you going to fuck at that rave?” she asks, as casually as she can, the next morning, when Effy’s woken up—still luminous, even with make-up spread all over her cheeks and Naomi’s pillow and entirely unfocused eyes.  
  
Effy blinks at the question and then shrugs. “Some guy.”  
  
“Sounds romantic. Safe, too.”   
  
Effy smiles faintly in response. “I know how to take care of myself, Naomi.”  
  
“Do you?” Naomi asks, a lot sharper than she means to, and then shakes her head. “Sorry. I’m fucking exhausted. You and your urges.”  
  
“It won’t happen again,” Effy murmurs, shifting and closing off, making to roll over.  
  
 _Liar_ , Naomi thinks, and pulls Effy back, flattens her on the mattress, pins her down.  
  
When Effy won’t stop staring, Naomi kisses her hard enough to bruise, looking for equilibrium.


	8. our hell

It’s impossible to unhear, to not remember that one night.  
  
On the surface nothing changes, but inside, Naomi feels almost betrayed, really, by how easily Effy sidestepped all the rules and measures and promises that this wouldn’t become  _anything_ , and then made it  _something_ , only to escape scot-free because she doesn’t fucking remember doing it.  
  
She replays that barely awake moment, sends different replies:  
  
 _Sorry, not in the mood; sorry, tired; it’s five fucking am; fuck who you like; I don’t fucking care; whatever; whatever, whatever, whatever.  
  
_ It might’ve made a difference, somehow; might have stayed the execution.  
  
\----  
  
February is the month in which Naomi discovers she’s fallen out of love.  
  
Emily asks about the holidays, and she finds herself answering before she even thinks to search for the pang of regret that normally accompanies even a small wave; it's even more stunning when she realizes that asking in kind doesn’t produce it, either.  
  
“Went to a spa with Katie. It was delightful,” Emily answers, incredibly dryly, and Naomi laughs; remembers the exact moment when Emily stopped being a pest and started being someone she  _liked_  having around.  
  
“We should have coffee sometime,” she offers, when they’re all filing into Kieran’s classroom, and Emily looks so pleasantly surprised that she forgetsto remind herself that it might be stupid, to add another potentially messy situation to her roster when she's already got more than she knows what todo with.  
  
\----  
  
“Saw you talking to Emily,” Effy says later, when they’re walking home together, Naomi with her bike in hand.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“All right?”  
  
Naomi probes around for it, but any and all lingering  _anything_  she has is a lot closer to her than Emily Fitch is, right this minute. “Yeah, actually.”  
  
“Alas. I was going to offer to fuck the pain away, but if there isn’t any—“  
  
Naomi rolls her eyes. “Yeah, Ef. Because we only shag when I’m sad, right?”  
  
Effy’s smile wavers for a second. “That was the idea.”  
  
They’re so close to having a real conversation that Naomi almost kicks her in frustration when it doesn’t happen; when, just like every other time she thinks they might actually talk about what the hell is going on between them, Effy deflects with a mocking comment about whatever, and then whistles a bar of  _Lucille_  just to annoy the piss out of her.  
  
\----  
  
There’s only one way in which she can let out all the shit that’s bottled up inside of her these days.  
  
Effy doesn’t ask what’s gotten into her; just looks at her with raised eyebrows until she’s finally caught her breath, and even then all she says is, “Jesus”, before letting her head fall back onto the pillow.  
  
“Yeah,” Naomi mumbles, and rolls over, fumbles for the cigarettes; lights one just so she doesn’t have to look at Effy’s face, isn’t tempted to just blurt out that she  _knows_  that they’re in trouble.  
  
\----  
  
In the end, it’s an impulse that fucks her up, like it usually is.  
  
She’s on her way to the bathroom when she hears them; their voices a bit muffled, but it’s clear who they are, and after a second’s hesitation she gives in—crosses the hallway, leans against the wall next to the nurse’s office.  
  
“—too fucking right, yeah.”  
  
“Cook,” Effy says, sounding incredibly tired. “Just fuck off, will you?”  
  
“I just don’t get it. You’re a fantastic shag, I fucking love pounding into you—“ and the statement’s accompanied by a metal clang of some kind that Naomi rolls her eyes at; he must be humping the desks in demonstration, “—and you know I’m good for it. Bet you’ve never come harder, eh babe?”  
  
“You bet wrong,” Effy says, blandly, and then there’s sound of a chair being pushed back, Cook going, “You'll be back, babe, you can't deny a good thing forever” and next thing she knows, Effy is out the door.  
  
She’s leveled with an incredulous look and feels herself get red, completely unwillingly. “I was on my way to the bathroom.”  
  
“It hasn’t moved,” Effy says, stares some more, and Naomi says, “yeah” so flatly that it comes out sounding dead.  
  
She can feel Effy’s eyes boring into her back as she walks off; almost turns around, but isn’t stupid enough to fuck up twice in five minutes.  
  
\----  
  
She spends most of her study period wondering what would be more fucked up: apologizing, or not apologizing.  
  
In the end, she doesn’t get a choice, because Effy tugs her out of the room and into the hallway without even so much a hello, and then just glares at her, as close to angry as Naomi has ever seen her.  
  
“What the  _fuck_ ,” she spits, and Naomi takes a deep breath.  
  
“I  _was_  on my way to the bathroom; I just wanted to… fuck’s sake, I don’t know, okay?”  
  
Effy’s throat works, her eyes narrow even further, and then a whisper of air escapes from her mouth, starts a process of deflation that’s almost terrifying. “I don’t—“  
  
There’s nothing they can say that won’t cross several lines, and Effy seems to realize it more strongly with every passing second, until she looks so faint that Naomi  _has_  to say something.  
  
“I  _know_ , okay. It was a bloody impulse. I don’t give a fuck if you—“  
  
Effy thankfully cuts her off. “I’m  _not_  fucking Cook.”  
  
“Good,” Naomi says, and then twists her lips. “I rarely agree with Katie on anything, but he  _is_  fucking repulsive, and I don’t think I could bring myselfto—“  
  
“I didn’t say no because of  _you_ ,” Effy says, bluntly, and Naomi swallows the rest of her rambling bullshit.  
  
“Of course not. That would imply that you owe me something, right?” She doesn’t mean for it to come out bitter,  _at all_ , but it does.  
  
Effy stares at her for five whole seconds. It doesn’t sound like much, but they drag on and on, and Naomi feels something awful crawl up her throat the entire time; two more heartbeats and it will all come out, how she fucking  _remembers_  what Effy said, that this whole conversation is pure fucking fiction since neither of them are fucking anyone else.  
  
But Effy’s timing is impeccable, as always. “Do we need to stop?” she asks, somehow managing to make it sound like  _did we get any reading assigned in English_ , like it’s that fucking—   
  
“ _No_ ,” Naomi says, emphatically, and then bites down on the inside of her cheek as Effy’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly.  
  
“Right,” she says, slowly, and then her entire face closes off; becomes completely unreadable, even to someone who knows her,  _gets_  her.   
  
It says more than words could. Naomi refuses to watch her walk away.  
  
\----  
  
She spends one week convincing herself she doesn’t give a fuck; ignores Effy in the hallway beyond including her in the same resentful glare she directs at everyone else, reads books out on the back steps at lunch time, waves at Emily with almost vindictive glee if Effy happens to be around, and then concludes that she’s a total fraud when she accidentally and painfully steps on the  _Cluedo_  candlestick--still on the floor, they hadn't been able tofind it--and feels a swell of anger clog up her throat.  
  
\----  
  
Anthea lets her in, waffles something about her not having been around for a time; it’s the most messed up thing yet, that even  _Anthea_  has fucking noticed that they’re off kilter.  
  
Effy’s listening to a piano concerto; aggressively dark, lots of pounding, dissonant chords.  _Apparently, we’re both doing fine, then_ , she thinks, rolling her eyes, and then opens the door.  
  
The only lamp that’s on is the lava lamp, and she spots Effy purely by the glowing tip of her cigarette; she flicks on the light a second later, and swallows down a wave of annoyance when Effy doesn’t even fucking acknowledge her.  
  
She closes the door deliberately, takes her time, and then sits down on the edge of the bed.  
  
“Long time,” Effy says, softly, voice sounding rough and unused.  
  
“You fucking started this,” Naomi responds, and watches as Effy just takes a deep breath; stubs out her cigarette.  
  
“Of course I did. I doubt you would’ve ever suggested we start fucking.”  
  
“No, not  _that._ You fucking showed up at my house at four in the morning and told me that you had no interest in fucking other people. That you  _weren’t_ fucking other people, because you didn’t  _want_  to be fucking other people.”  
  
Effy glances over sharply and then closes her eyes, runs her palms across her face. “I did that, huh.”  
  
“Yeah, you did. So fucking—assuming some shit about  _me_  not knowing what I’m doing, just because I don’t want to see you…” She trails off and frowns.  
  
“With someone else?” Effy supplies, and if she’s trying to sound like it doesn’t bother her, she’s failing.  
  
“With  _Cook,”_ Naomi snaps, and then spits out the rest of her thought: “Jesus, you can do  _so_ much better than him.”  
  
Effy smiles and drops her hands to her lap; it’s a twisted smile, makes her look mean. “Really. And who  _did_  you have in mind for me, Naomi?”  
  
“Oh,  _fuck you_ ,” Naomi responds, shrilly; it’s awful, the way Effy knows exactly how to get under her skin, and the way she can’t help reacting to it. “Is this what you meant when you agreed that us fucking wouldn’t get in the way of our friendship?”  
  
Effy’s smile falters, until she suddenly looks every bit as bleak as the concerto in the background sounds. “No. It’s not.”  
  
“Is it really so—does it  _have_  to change everything? Not fucking other people?” Naomi finally asks, picking at the duvet, because there’s not anything else to say.  
  
Effy doesn’t move for a long while, and Naomi is already reaching for the doorknob when Effy finally sighs, “Maybe not.”  
  
\----  
  
Some small part of her thinks it’s almost like fucking with her eyes open for the first time.  
  
It’s ridiculous, how she didn’t know before that she’s actually  _attracted_  to Effy; that it took this much disaster for something so insignificant to become clear. Still, it hits her suddenly when Effy strains upwards, arms locked under a pillow, like a bow molding to Naomi’s hands.  
  
She doesn’t say anything—wouldn’t know where to start—but when her finger skim by all the places that arced and stretched before, it feels an awful lot like she’s paying tribute.  
  
\----  
  
“I never thought you were a coward,” Naomi says, hours later, when they’re covered only by the sheen of the lava lamp.  
  
“We're  _both_  cowards, Naomi,” Effy responds, and kisses her before she has a chance to deny it.  
  
\----  
  
Around midnight, they order pizza; they eat it in their knickers and t-shirts.  
  
“Thanks,” Effy mumbles, mouth full of pepperoni and a smear of grease on her cheek.  
  
“Whatever,” Naomi responds, and tosses over a napkin.  
  
\----  
  
Things level.  
  
Effy’s a cunt in public and a cunt in private, and sometimes they fuck and sometimes they don’t. When they do, it’s always better than the last time, and when they don’t, Naomi finds out a hundred new reasons as to why she isn’t suitable for the Emilys of this world--bright, welcoming people who expect her to want  _their_  kind of happiness.  
  
Effy reads, smokes, doesn't talk, sometimes fucks her so hard it almost hurts. It all  _works_. Whatever it is, it  _works_ ; they way they know they could dismantle each other completely if they tried, but don't have any interest in doing it.  
  
"You puzzle me," Effy says; they're a bit tipsy, out in the garden, letting the cold from the dewy, near-frosted grass seep into their bones.  
  
"Really."  
  
"Mm. You don't seem to want to make me talk unless I need to," Effy says, and then rolls over; stares at Naomi until Naomi plucks out a bit of wet grass, lets it drift back down to the ground. " _Everyone_  wants to make me talk."  
  
Naomi shrugs. "If I wanted mindless chatter around me constantly, I'd start fucking Katie Fitch."  
  
Effy's lips quirk up briefly, but then she rolls over again, stares at the sky and quotes, softly, "We have already gone beyond whatever we have words for. In all talk there is a grain of contempt."  
  
"A  _grain_? Nietzsche clearly hadn't met you when he wrote that," Naomi teases, when she's placed what Effy's saying.  
  
When Effy snorts, unable to hide a small smile, Naomi knows she's passed a test of some kind.  
  
\----  
  
They hang out on Valentine's Day, with the unspoken understanding that if they  _didn't_ , it would make it a  _thing_.  
  
Naomi's mum, of course, sticks her foot in it with such force that it's almost impressive--says it's nice that even though they're not in a relationship, they're spending this lovely day together. "No reason we can't all celebrate love a bit, right girls?" she says, with a fond smile, and Naomi bites down on her cheek, hard; studiously avoids looking at Effy.  
  
Effy looks pinched when they get to Naomi's room with tea, and Naomi laughs.  
  
"Still think she's cool?"  
  
"Apparently,  _all_  parents are dildos," Effy sighs, bitterly, which Naomi supposes could count as progress.  
  
\----  
  
A week later, Emily puts a hand on her arm after English; says, “You free for coffee this afternoon?” like it’s something they still do all the time, but somehow it’s fine—fitting, even.  
  
“Usual place?” Naomi asks, and there’s only a brief flash of regret in Emily’s eyes before she nods.   
  
Effy doesn’t text her until after college, when she’s already catching a bus; a simple  _come over_  that Naomi’s learned to interpret as a mixture of  _am bored/let’s fuck/ just occupy my space and do whatever_.  
  
It’s worryingly tempting, and she almost considers rescheduling.  
  
Instead, she texts back  _in town; later?_  without any explanations, because if they’re even needed—and it’s murky, what they do and don’t need to say out loud—they shouldn’t come over the phone.  
  
\----  
  
Effy kisses her almost aggressively when she opens the door; right there, for the entire street to see, and Naomi’s so surprised by it that she pulls away.  
  
“Hey, what gives,” she says, as Effy takes a clumsy step back into the house; Naomi watches her stumble on lines of shoes in the hallway, and then realizes that there’s a pair she doesn’t recognize there.  
  
“Tony’s home,” Effy says, sounding incredibly unhappy about it.  
  
Naomi starts, and then tilts her head. “You all right?”  
  
“Whatever,” Effy says, pulling her inside. “Come meet him. Then we can get out of here.”  
  
\----  
  
Tony has her eyes. Not much else, though, and certainly not Effy’s gratitude; she looks almost annoyed at the fact that he’s shown up after all this time, when she’s  _almost_  gotten used to him  _not_  being around.  
  
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Tony says, and when he steps forward, shakes her hand, Naomi finally gets an answer to the soap question.  
  
It throws her, and she lets go of his hand a little abruptly. “Really.”  
  
Anthea mumbles something about making tea; Effy stays back, eyes cautiously flitting between them.  
  
“Yeah,” Tony says. “Ef’s mentioned you in a few emails.”  
  
“Tony—“ Effy says, warningly, and after an unfathomable look between them, Tony smiles at Naomi again.  
  
“Part-time muff muncher, right?”  
  
He’s pretty much every bit the smug arsehole she imagined him to be from what little Effy's told her, and she can’t really help herself, just responds with, “Yeah; and you’re the useless twat who bailed on Christmas, right?”  
  
Tony laughs. “Touché,” he says, with a half-smile, and then looks at Ef. “I’m going to go help Mum with dinner. See you later, sis."  
  
“Sorry,” Naomi mumbles when he’s disappeared around the corner.  
  
“Don’t be,” Effy replies, and then drags her out of the room, up the stairs.  
  
\----  
  
Effy smokes silently for a while; stares out on the blackened, wet street outside, illuminated only by a lamppost and Naomi spends the entire time convincing herself that her silhouette isn’t perfect, wholesome in its imperfections.  
  
“Did he just show up, then?”  
  
Effy nods, barely, and then stubs out the second cigarette. “It’s what he does.”  
  
“Your mum seemed—happy about it,” Naomi says, then pats the bed when Effy just shoots her a look. “C’mere.”  
  
“Where were you this afternoon?” Effy says, shrugging out of her t-shirt and sitting down.  
  
She almost fibs, just because it might be easier than explaining, but one look at Effy’s face—so unexpectedly fragile sometimes, like Effy isn’t the strongest person she’s ever met—means that she can’t. “I had coffee with Emily.”  
  
“Ah,” Effy says, in a tone of voice Naomi can’t read at all.  
  
“It doesn’t—“  
  
“You’re friends, right?” Effy stares at Naomi so intently that she’s sure they’re going to be at it in a second, but then Effy just averts her eyes and stretches out next to her on the bed. “It’s nice, if you can be,” is mumbled into the pillow, and Naomi honestly doesn’t have a fucking clue if Effy means it or not. It’s getting harder to tell all the time.  
  
She’s almost asleep when Effy’s hand shifts from the mattress onto her stomach; lingers on her diaphragm. It takes her two minutes of barely breathing before she finally thinks  _fuck it,_ and covers Effy’s hand with her own.  
  
\----  
  
February is the month in which she realizes she’s fallen out of love.   
  
She has no idea what she’s stumbled into in its place.


	9. nothing & nowhere

Effy communicates in music.  
  
Naomi learns the differences between Little Richard and the Stones, between Toru Takemitsu and Paganini, between loud, obnoxious drum and bass and tinkly, harmonic French electronica.  
  
Some of them mean that Effy is restless, eager to leave the house; others that she won’t say a word and doesn’t want to be alone; others still that she needs Naomi to talk, to drown out whatever is going on in her head.  
  
Naomi wonders what her tells are; if her face just speaks the same volumes that Effy’s stereo does.  
  
\----  
  
Coffee with Emily becomes regular.  
  
Effy either doesn’t mind or doesn’t let herself mind, and by the end of March it becomes clear that the over-ness, the moving on, is entirely mutual. Emily offhandedly makes a comment about the Durham LGBT and how she may join, and then shifts the conversation over to Naomi’s uni applications, if she’s gotten any results yet.  
  
“Well, I’m going to London,” Naomi says, with a faint smile. “I just don’t know where yet.”  
  
“Do you think we’ll ever see each other again?”  
  
It’s a casual question but it burns, somehow; the idea that time is slipping out of her grasp. “If we want to, I don’t see why not. Not exactly hardship, it is, planning a trip to London.”  
  
Emily smiles, and then teasingly adds, “Maybe I’ll just combine seeing you and Katie; we can all hang out, like old times.”  
  
“Ugh—I’m trying to look  _forward_  to leaving Bristol, Emily,” Naomi says, and Emily laughs.  
  
\----  
  
Trying is the key word.  
  
She realizes one morning, when her mum burns the toast with a loud, “Shit—fucking worthless piece of shit apparatus” and a kick to the counter, that she’ll miss her, and feels tears well up in her eyes so abruptly that she has to wipe them off on her sleeve, then read something infuriating about the Tories just to not make an ass out of herself.  
  
And that’s her  _mum_.  
  
Some things, she just can’t think about at all. Bristol’s home; however fucked up it’s been all these years, it’s  _still_  home.  
  
\----  
  
She doesn’t hear about Effy's results from Effy; just finds a stack of envelopes downstairs on the kitchen table when she realizes they forgot to put sugar in their tea, and when they’ve all been opened already anyway, she doesn’t see any point in pretending she’s blind.  
  
She’s still hovering over them when she hears Effy pad down the stairs, and then just sits down, looks out the window, and waits for Effy to make a decision on whether or not to talk about this.  
  
“St. Andrews was a surprise,” Effy says, and then hops onto the kitchen counter. Naomi almost hates her, just for a moment. “My AS level exam results were one step up from shite.”  
  
“Doug must’ve written one hell of a letter,” Naomi says, and then taps the spoon against the table. “Have you decided on anything yet?”  
  
“No,” Effy says, leaning her head back against a cabinet, looking up at the ceiling. “Not Cardiff. Other than that, I’ve got another couple of months, haven’t I.”  
  
Naomi doesn’t say anything; thinks,  _another couple of months_ , and drops the spoon on the table.  
  
“Where’s your mum?” she asks.  
  
“Fuck knows,” Effy responds, finally looking down again.  
  
“Take off your knickers,” Naomi says, pushing away from the table.  
  
“Not wearing any,” Effy responds easily, sounding wholly unsurprised, like it was destined to go here all along.  
  
Naomi sighs, and watches as Effy’s legs slowly open; then takes what she can get.  
  
\----  
  
There’s no telling where they are now.  
  
In college, they keep a fair bit of distance, and it’s helpful that Panda’s around; usually near Effy, and Naomi’s patience levels have increased by approximately thirty percent just from being around them both. Effy’s way of dealing with Panda is coldly detached, but then so fond at the same time, that Naomi sometimes finds herself wondering what she’d find if she went looking for herself in there, peeled off a few layers and peered inside.  
  
Sometimes, Effy glances at her from across a room, and she thinks she almost knows.  
  
\----  
  
Panda proves herself to be anything but useless.  
  
She finds Naomi smoking outside, sits down next to her with hands in her pocket, and a quick, “Oh, hey, Naomi.”  
  
“Effy’s already inside, I think,” Naomi says after a moment; shrugs her coat back on, still too fucking cold even though it’s almost April, and she suddenly wishes she’d applied to uni in like, fucking Brazil or somewhere. Someplace hot. Too far away to be able to keep strings tied.  
  
“Oh, I know,” Panda says, and then smiles. “I’m waiting for Tommo. Can you believe we’re off to Birmingham together? I’m bloody thrilled, I am. Bit nervous, though. His mum doesn’t like me much.”  
  
Naomi smiles. “She’ll come around, I’m sure.”  
  
“Well,” Panda says, sounding thoughtful. “She seems to like me better with my clothes on. I think that’s fair, don’t you?”  
  
Naomi laughs and stubs out her cigarette. “Yeah, it is.”  
  
They sit silently for a moment and then Panda pulls her knees up to her chest. “The thing about Ef, yeah, is that she doesn’t always know how to show things.”  
  
“You don’t say,” Naomi comments dryly, and Panda shrugs and picks at her nails.  
  
“She’s a good friend, you know. I mean, she was a bit shit for a while, but she’s trying harder now. Especially with you, I think. She’s met your mum, right?”  
  
Naomi nods, suddenly completely unsure of where this is going.  
  
“Yeah, I reckon Effy’s trying. It’s good, that she’s trying for someone. I don’t like her much when she’s unhappy,” Panda says, and then looks off in the distance; perks up visibly when she spots Thomas approaching. “You two together, though—I didn’t understand at first, she had to explain it to me that she’s off boys now, completely, but I think it’s bang-up, you know? Well sorted; actually makes a whole lot of sense.”  
  
“We’re not—“ Naomi starts to say, and then Panda looks at her in a way that is almost Effy-esque in how hard it cuts through the bullshit.  
  
“She’s my best mate. I know I’m a bit stupid, and a lot useless, but I do know  _some_ things.”  
  
“Yeah, of course,” Naomi says, weakly, and then watches as Panda gets up.  
  
“I told her to go to London. She told me to fuck off, but I really think she thought it was a whizzer ide—Thomas, hello, hi,” she says, as he kisses her hello on the forehead, nods at Naomi. They’re disgustingly sweet together; it reminds her of Emily, in a way that now makes her loathe herself a little.   
  
“I think you’ll like Birmingham,” Naomi tells them, mostly to get them to fuck off, and then she stays outside for another twenty minutes; wonders what it means, exactly, that Effy talked to Panda about any of this. If she’s reading too much into it, or not even close to enough.  
  
\----  
  
“Can you be with someone without like— _being_  with someone?” she asks her mum, finally, when she can’t think of anyone else to ask.  
  
Her mum just peers at her over the top of the book she’s reading and sighs. “You girls, you make everything so bloody complicated.”  
  
“It was a hypothetical question. Fuck’s sake,” Naomi says, defensively, and then heads upstairs with a huff.  
  
\----  
  
This thing between them, it’s mostly unscripted.  
  
They tried rules, and then broke them all over the place, and now they just have no-go zones; things they refuse to talk about by mutual agreement. It’s just unclear whether that can work, at all, or for how long it can last.  
  
\----  
  
Effy makes her a CD for her birthday. “Spent all my money on alcohol; sorry,” is the official explanation.  
  
“Cheap cunt,” Naomi says, because it’s her line—sometimes she knows what she’s meant to say—and they drink half a bottle of tequila together on Naomi’s bed. When Effy’s left to go home—“my mum’s—whatever, I need to make sure she eats”, said so easily to her, and probably not at all to other people—she digs out her laptop; puts the CD in, watches the tracks label themselves, and listens to it with headphones on three times before her mum calls her down for dinner.  
  
The last two tracks are the saddest fucking things she’s ever heard, and when Effy asks if she liked it, the next day, the lump in her throat prevents her from answering. Instead, she kisses her right there, up by the lockers; quickly and painfully hard, like a theft of feeling.  
  
“Any reason for the song choices?” she asks over lunch, when she thinks she can.  
  
Effy shrugs. “Just threw some shit together that I thought you might like.”  
  
Naomi finishes her sandwich in silence; wonders when Effy became the worst liar she knows. [Worse than  _Emily_ ; it’s completely unbelievable.]  
  
\----  
  
That one, stupid kiss didn’t go unnoticed.  
  
Emily stirs her tea slowly and says, “So, you and Effy.”  
  
Naomi’s hand freezes; mug dangling in the air, halfway to her mouth, until she finally just puts it back down. “Me and Effy what?”  
  
“Don’t, please,” Emily says, softly. “Katie saw you two making out by the lockers. I won’t comment on the irony if you won’t lie.”  
  
Naomi rolls her eyes. “We weren’t  _making out_. Your sister’s a blind, stupid—“  
  
“How long has that been going on, then?” Emily interjects, and Naomi slumps against the back of her chair.  
  
“It’s nothing, okay? We just—whatever. We’re friends.”  
  
“Friends who make out against lockers.”  
  
“It’s complicated,” Naomi says after a moment, and Emily laughs wryly.  
  
“Of  _course_  it is.”  
  
Naomi feels an edge of irritation well up; doesn’t suppress it in time. “Last I checked, it was also none of your business.”  
  
Emily takes a deep breath and then smiles faintly. “No, of course not. Sorry; it was just a bit—I mean, if I ever didn’t see something coming, it’s this.”  
  
“I get it. It’s—honestly, I would’ve probably told you eventually, but there’s just not all that much to say,” Naomi says, and then runs a hand through her hair, shoves it back behind her ear. “We hook up sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”  
  
“What is it  _about_  her? I think I literally know two people in this entire bloody school who haven’t tripped all over themselves just to be near her,” Emily asks, a few seconds later; it’s not a bitter or angry question, just genuinely curious, and Naomi laughs before she can help it.  
  
“Fuck if I know,” she then says, and shrugs when Emily raises an eyebrow. “She’s a bit of a selfish cunt, to be honest, and having a conversation with her is not unlike trying to anally probe an ant.”  
  
Emily laughs. “God. I shudder to think how you used to describe me to other people.”  
  
“Annoying, meddling twat who won’t leave me alone,” Naomi supplies, and then softens it with a smile. “For a bit, anyway.”  
  
“Are you happy?” Emily finally asks, when their drinks have gone cold and they’re out of small talk entirely. “Happier than you were with me?”  
  
“I can’t compare it,” Naomi responds softly, after a long moment. “I don’t think so, no. When we were happy, it was—different.”  
  
Emily smiles. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but that’s nice to hear.”  
  
Naomi smiles back; doesn’t point out that different doesn’t necessarily mean better.  
  
\----  
  
“Emily knows we’re…” she tells Effy later that evening; finishes it off with an ambiguous hand gesture.  
  
“Panda calls it girl-turfing,” Effy responds, after a moment, and Naomi almost smiles.  
  
“And how long has Panda known?”  
  
“She’s my best friend,” Effy says, then shrugs. “A while, I guess.”  
  
“She’s your best friend,” Naomi repeats, and then levels Effy with a cautious look. “What does that make me?”  
  
Effy averts her eyes and then sighs. “Does it need a name?”  
  
“I guess not, but if we don’t come up with something ourselves, people are going to just assume—“  
  
“They will anyway,” Effy says, and runs a hand up Naomi’s shirt, rests it on her sternum. “Not many people can accept that not everything fits in a box.”  
  
“I’m not sure I can, to be honest,” Naomi says, softly, and Effy’s fingers press down on her skin; tighten around her heart, almost. “I mean, what is this, Ef? Are we still just fucking occasionally?”  
  
“We,” Effy starts to say, after a few seconds, and then smiles. “I thought you didn’t get the distinction.”  
  
Naomi rolls her eyes. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”  
  
“You just said it—“  
  
“Drop it, please,” Naomi says, and rolls away; angles herself acutely, until Effy’s got no choice but to pull her arm back.  
  
\----  
  
They end up not seeing each other for a few days after that; Effy’s gone by the time she wakes up, and she’s got so much shit to do in preparation of their A-levels that she doesn’t have  _time_  to play games, to sit around and wonder if it’s all fucking worth it for  _another couple of months_.  
  
\----  
  
April showers are relentless, torrential, unending.  
  
Effy, on the porch, is completely soaked through, white t-shirt translucent, black trousers dragging her down heavily, and Naomi just gapes at her for a long moment. “What the  _fuck_  is wrong with you; I’ve got a bloody mobile, you could’ve just—“  
  
“We can’t say it,” Effy squeezes out between chattering teeth. “We  _can’t_. It’ll fuck everything up, I’m completely fucking rubbish at—“  
  
“What are you  _talking_  about?”  
  
Effy bites down on her lip, hard, and then trembles. “Can’t things just stay like this? Like they are?”  
  
Naomi feels her chest clench, abruptly, and then feels so hopeless that the best she can do is say, “I’ll get you a towel. Just—“  
  
Effy turns around wordlessly; stares out at the ending world around them, and Naomi only remembers to breathe when she’s standing in front of the linen closet—rests her forehead against it heavily, counts to three.  
  
\----  
  
Effy looks incredibly small with the fuzzy beach towel wrapped around her shoulders, knees folded up to her chest. Naomi sits down next to her, carefully, and then hands her a cup of tea.  
  
“You’re going to get fucking pneumonia,” she says, trying to sound annoyed but it’s nearly impossible when Effy’s the single most pathetic thing she’s ever seen.  
  
Effy just wraps her fingers around the mug, stares at it. “I’m rubbish at relationships.”  
  
“I’m not asking—“  
  
“And so are you,” Effy continues, looking out onto the puddles splashing up in the street. “So maybe—maybe this could be more. But I think the only way we can handle it is if we don’t let it be.”   
  
“I’m not sure that’s possible,” Naomi says, and watches as Effy’s knuckles turn white.  
  
“Try,” Effy responds, sharply. “It’s just for a few more fucking months anyway, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Naomi says, and feels her eyes begin to burn.  
  
“So let’s not—can’t we just be  _us_?” Effy asks, urgently. “I don’t want—“  
  
She can’t say whatever comes after that, but Naomi hears it loud and clear; almost like that middle section of Effy’s supposedly meaningless CD, such a sharp burst of emotion that it’s almost unbearable to listen to more than once.  
  
“You need to take a shower, warm up some,” she says, and then reaches for the mug. “I’ll leave some clothes for you on the bed, okay?”  
  
Effy nods faintly, and then grabs Naomi’s arm so tightly that it hurts, stops her from getting up.  
  
Effy’s kiss is desperate, bordering on painful, and after a few seconds of being shocked into inaction, Naomi drops the mug, tangles her fingers inEffy’s drenched hair, pulls on it until Effy gasps into her mouth. When Effy finally tears herself away, she presses their foreheads together and breathes so frantically that Naomi’s lungs hurt by proxy.  
  
 _If this is fucking occasionally, seeing her might kill me_ , Naomi thinks, and then pushes the thought away, forces their mouths together again.


	10. reading in bed

It’s May.  
  
It’s not enough.  
  
\----  
  
She watches Effy sleep sometimes; wonders what she’s thinking, the way her forehead wrinkles with every flicker of her eyelids, every clenching of her fingers.  
  
After three nights in a row, she finds out that if she places a hand right next to her, on the bed, she stills completely.  
  
The fourth night, she places the hand on Effy’s back. It wakes her up instantly, and she blinks at Naomi in confusion. “What?”  
  
“Nothing; sorry,” Naomi says; resists the urge to run a hand through Effy’s hair, to just stroke it until her eyes close again.  
  
Effy doesn’t close her eyes again; watches for another long moment, and then something shifts—almost like the air between them quickens, like every time they exhale it speeds time up a little bit more, builds the urgency until it’s almost like a physical presence between them.  
  
“Can I fuck you,” Effy asks, softly, and it’s the fact that she asks that makes Naomi’s head stutter; she’s never asked before, never gave any indication that she was expecting the answer to eventually become  _no_ , until now.  
  
“You don’t have to—“  
  
“Humor me,” Effy says, and then almost smiles.  
  
Naomi’s almost afraid of her sometimes, but not enough to not say yes, always.  
  
\----  
  
Emily turns out to be a much better friend than she was a girlfriend, but even so, it just feels wrong to talk to her about any of it.  
  
Her mood leaves a lot to be desired, though, and after a while Emily just outs and asks; Naomi, stupidly, still forgets sometimes whose fault it is, exactly, that she now looks at Effy’s legs and thinks about them wrapped around her.  
  
“It’s got to be rough; knowing you may not end up in the same place,” is how she puts it. It’s delicate enough to cover a lot of scenarios, including the _we’re just friends who fuck_  nonsense that she threw out there a while ago.  
  
“We don’t really talk about it,” Naomi says, which is the truth and then some.  
  
“Effy? Not talking about something?” Emily asks, and makes a surprised face that Naomi just rolls her eyes at. “Maybe you should, then. If she won’t.”  
  
“Em—not that I don’t appreciate you being cool about this, but it’s a bit fucking weird to be talking to you about—whatever,” Naomi sighs, and Emily just smiles.  
  
“It doesn’t have to be,” she says. “I think it would be rather excellent, actually; being good friends with the first person I ever really loved.”  
  
Naomi can’t help it; smiles back after a moment. “So what’s there to do in Durham, then?”  
  
“Girls, from what I could tell when Katie and I went over last week. Lots and lots of girls,” Emily says, almost managing to not blush, and Naomi laughs.  
  
“Remember when you were all  _who, me?_ when I asked you if you were gay, at that rave thing?”  
  
“It feels like a very long time ago, doesn’t it,” Emily says, with a fond smile.  
  
“If I knew then what I know now…” Naomi says, deliberately wearily, and when Emily laughs again she thinks maybe, next time, she’ll talk about Effy. For now, it would just ruin a good moment.  
  
\----  
  
For a while, she thinks that maybe  _just being us_  can work after all.  
  
Something changes, even if it doesn’t officially; she slides off her bicycle on the way to school and finds Effy waiting for her at the rack, is rewarded for absolute fuck-all with a kiss that soaks her knickers, and for one ridiculous moment she thinks Effy might offer to carry her books or hold her hand or something, but when Effy just lights a fag and says, “Let’s go”, it turns out the world  _isn’t_  ending after all.  
  
There’s other little things; open looks, casual touches, and none of it exactly  _screams_  dating, but at some point Freddie levels her with a look that’s so accusatory that she figures the secret’s up. She makes a point of it that day; kisses Effy at her desk when heading to Kieran’s classroom, and when they’re all settled there again, Cook and Freddie are both looking at her like she’s stolen their favorite toy.  
  
It’s been almost a whole bloody year, and they’re still that fucked up over her.  
  
Naomi wonders, watching as Effy slides into the seat next to her, raising an eyebrow in a way that she somehow manages to make affectionate and questioning all at once, how long it’ll take her.  
  
\----  
  
Then there’s the times when  _just being us_  isn’t enough at all; like when she reaches out to brush a bit of Nutella off Effy’s mouth, and Effy flinches at it like she’s crossing a line. Or like when she accidentally calls her “hon” once, and Effy goes home within the hour, looking like she’s been subjected to a very special brand of torture.  
  
Sometimes, it’s almost enough to make her explode on the spot, but she always thinks back to wet hair, wetter eyes; a tired, shivering mess in herbed, and she just  _can’t_. Not if it might mean even less than  _just being us_.  
  
Not yet.  
  
\----  
  
They study; Effy pretends not to, of course, but Naomi’s seen the haphazard piles of notes sticking out from under her bed and just lets her fake her way through it.  
  
Somewhere in those piles are the uni acceptance letters.  
  
It’s high on the list of things they don’t talk about.  
  
\----  
  
“UCL,” she tells her mum, in late May. “I think I’m sure.”  
  
“You think you’re sure,” her mum repeats, and Naomi rolls her eyes.  
  
“No, I’m  _sure_. I’m fucking sure. That’s where I’m going.”  
  
“Good,” her mum says, and leans over, presses a kiss to her forehead that she grudgingly accepts, since it won’t be long until it won’t be happening at all anymore. “Have you told Effy?”  
  
“Why would I tell Effy?” she asks, not even entirely joking, and her mum just looks at her wearily.  
  
“Naomi—that girl’s been hung out to dry a few too many times for her to just put herself out there, okay? Don’t be too proud to just ask her for things. If you care about her—“  
  
“Shut up,” she says, and then feels breakfast come back up. “You  _don’t_  know what you’re talking about.”  
  
Her mum looks as if she’s not going to let it go, but then just looks back at the paper, eats another bite of toast.   
  
Sometimes, Naomi can’t stand how easy it is for other people, to notice how fucked up things are, and to then just ignore it.  
  
\----  
  
Her fingers are already teasing the edge of Effy’s knickers when Effy pulls her hand away, says, “Not yet, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Naomi says, carefully, but after a moment, a small dart forward that doesn’t turn into anything, Effy just kisses her again; hungrily, attentively, the best kind of foreplay they have between them.  
  
Naomi goes with it, is pulled along by it, and then is lost to it completely—feels how the kiss changes from anticipation to something else entirely, and she’s reminded of summer afternoons, water lilies, the low buzz of insects and the high buzz of weed, and it’s—  
  
“What—are you okay?” she asks, pulling back, and Effy stares back at her for three whole seconds before her expression evens out again.  
  
“Yeah,” she says, and then straightens. “I changed my mind; let’s go upstairs, yeah?”  
  
\----  
  
It fucks her up completely; the way Effy can go from feeling everything to nothing in minutes.  
  
She can’t climax for like, the first time  _ever_ , and finally just closes her eyes, shakes her head. “It’s not happening. I’m too—whatever.”  
  
“All right,” Effy says, easily enough, and then shifts away. The air’s cold, stamping them both, but mostly settling on the expanse of sheet between them.  
  
“I’m going to UCL,” she says after a minute or so of awkward, frustrated silence; it isn’t even remotely the point anymore, but Effy rolls over anyway, looks at her for a long time.  
  
“The ESPN programme.”  
  
Naomi turns her head, slowly. “ESPS, yeah.”  
  
“What’s your modern language?” Effy asks, folding her hands under her pillow, and Naomi just stares at her. “I’m guessing politics as the specialism, right?”  
  
She almost can’t find words. “Yeah, it’s—I think German; I dropped French at AS level.”  
  
“Cool,” Effy says, simply, as if they’ve had actual conversations about this before; as if she’s ever said anything more to Effy than ‘they’ve got a rather interesting specialist programme, it’s why I added them to the list’; as if she hadn’t said that several  _months_  ago.  
  
“You’re so fucking—“ Naomi starts to say, and then just gets stuck on it; feels so much, all at once, that she can’t fucking think of any way to finish that sentence.  
  
Effy’s expression slowly switches from interested to concerned, and that can’t happen; not when this is more than she’d ever expected, with absolutely no warning. “Get over here,” she says, and when Effy still looks apprehensive, she adds, “Please”.  
  
This kiss switches too, just like the one earlier did, but this time she’s prepared for it—sort of—and stays with it, forces Effy to stay in it, feels every single last one of her allowances for the limits Effy’s placed upon them evaporate in her chest, because it’s not enough—it’ll never be enough.  
  
They kiss for ten minutes, maybe more, maybe less; when Effy finally pulls back, breathing heavily, her eyes are stormy and demanding—but they reveal nothing, and Naomi sighs deeply.  
  
“Where are you going, Ef,” she asks, quietly, and only then do Effy’s eyes soften in ways that they shouldn’t, if there really isn’t anything more between them.  
  
“Nowhere; I’m right here,” she says back, and the lie hurts so much that Naomi knows, without a doubt, that she’s going to force the issue—that their time is up.  
  
She sighs; tries to smile but can’t. “What are those last two songs on that CD you made me about?”  
  
Effy frowns, and then her hand leaves Naomi’s shoulder—moves back to the duvet, the first of what’s bound to be many withdrawals. “What—“  
  
“Is that where this is going? No matter what?” Naomi asks, ignoring her burning eyes, but the way Effy’s face shimmers into anguish just for a second doesn’t permit it.  
  
“I—“ she says, and then shakes her head. “Don’t do this, Naomi.”  
  
“Where are you  _going_ , Ef?”  
  
“I haven’t deci—“  
  
“The fuck you haven’t,” Naomi interjects, and then angrily wipes at her eyes, almost hits Effy in the mouth just by bringing her hands up. “I  _know_  you. You’ve had this all sorted for months, all in your fucking head, without talking to anyone about it. And one day, you’ll just throw it out there; like, oh, let’s fuck, and by the way, I’m moving to fucking  _Scotland_  in a month.”  
  
Effy’s mouth sets. “You’re being a child.”  
  
“ _I’m_  being a child? You’re the one who fucking kisses me like  _that_ , twice in one bloody day, and then acts like it doesn’t mean anything; like it’s exactly what it was five months ago, when really were just fucking because it was  _all we had_.”  
  
Effy doesn’t say anything.  
  
“I’ve got news for you. Monogamous, regular fucking that lasts for five months? This is a fucking—“  
  
“ _Stop it_ ,” Effy whispers, harshly, and Naomi hates that she’s crying; hates that she can’t help letting Effy know just how much this means.  
  
“I  _can’t_ ,” she responds, and watches as Effy’s façade, whatever it is that holds her together when she’s so clearly in pieces, crumbles completely.  
  
“Where are you going, Effy?” she asks, one last time, and watches as Effy rubs at her eyes roughly with her fists, then leans over the edge of the bedand thrusts a letter at Naomi’s chest; pins it there.  
  
“Here. And when you’re done, we're  _done_ ,” she says, voice so raw that it comes out more like a request than an order.  
  
Naomi blinks furiously and then reaches for her waist, but Effy twists away, slips off the edge of the bed. “Ef, come on;  _please_. I don’t care if it’s just for another 3 months; this, what you’re making us do—it’s  _bullshit_.”  
  
Effy picks up a t-shirt and holds it in front of her chest, and then levels Naomi with a look so full of hurt that Naomi almost recoils. “Bullshit? Bullshit is _I don’t think you need to be fixed, Effy_. Bullshit is telling me that you  _fucking understand_  me, and then—"  
  
"But I--"  _do_ , Naomi starts saying.  
  
"No," Effy says, and shakes her head. "Just stop it. Who do you think you fucking  _are_ , Naomi? You think you’re going to be the exception, the one who proves them all wrong about what a fucking mess I am?”  
  
“I don't—“  
  
“You need to leave now,” Effy says; the weariness in her voice, a mark of endless disappointment, stops Naomi from protesting further.  
  
She watches silently as Effy pulls on the shirt with quick, jerky movements, fishes her knickers off the floor, tugs them back on, and leaves her own bedroom without a backward glance.  
  
Only then does she remember the letter she’s holding.  
  
Her heart—making itself acutely known for the first time in months—cracks wide open when she spots the small crown logo in the upper left hand corner.


	11. mostly waving

It's over.   
  
She doesn’t have the luxury of wallowing like she did when things fell apart with Emily, because it’s only weeks away from A-levels, and she refuses—can’t—let herself be that person who thinks that one big fucking cock-up at age eighteen is worth more than the rest of her life.  
  
Not that she’s doing well, at all, or even a little; at some point her mum notices, looks at her and says, “If you drink any more coffee, I think your hair will start standing on end, love” followed by a “I haven’t seen Effy in a while.”   
  
Naomi’s too fucking knackered to even glare; just feebly rolls her eyes and makes tea, thinking  _fuck you_  all the while.  
  
One day, she catches herself staring at a map of the Tube—the future, the thing she’s promised to herself, over and over again—and mentally plotting how to get from point A to B, where both are defined, and it’s not a road she’ll ever travel.  
  
That’s when she calls Emily.  
  
\----  
  
Emily, of course, makes tea; Naomi leans sits down on the same chair she was once reamed out by Emily’s mum in, and thinks about love, fierce or otherwise, and what it means that Emily looks at her pityingly rather than with any lingering affection, now.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she says, plain and simple.  
  
“My own fucking fault,” Naomi responds after a moment, and watches her hands shake as she reaches for the mug. It’s the lack of sleep, catching up to her, and if it keeps up she’s going to conk out in the middle of English next week. It’s starting to become less and less clear why that would matter at all.  
  
“Do you want to talk about what happened?”  
  
“No,” Naomi says, and stirs her tea; watches the spoon swing lazily around her mug one more time after she’s already let go, before it swings back, stills abruptly. “Maybe. I don’t know.”  
  
“Panda said that all Effy said was that it’s over.”  
  
“Yeah, well, that covers it, doesn’t it,” Naomi says, and then winces at how fucking bitter she sounds.  
  
“Not even friends, then?”  
  
“Can’t,” Naomi says, and watches as Emily fumbles her mug, almost drops it onto the table. “That was the whole problem, really. I can’t be her friend.”  
  
“You’re not giving me much to go on here.”  
  
“I think,” Naomi says, and stares at her mug until it gets blurry, “that I might be—have been, I mean… I think maybe we just did something really stupid.”  
  
“And you don’t think it was worth it?” Emily asks.  
  
Naomi doesn’t have an answer.  
  
“Or that it can be fixed?”  
  
Naomi bites her lip; the answer’s too hard to say out loud.  
  
In the end, before they both go home, Emily gives her a hug, and all Naomi can think is that she smells completely wrong.  
  
\----  
  
The call comes the night before her Politics exam.  
  
She’s finally asleep, really, and then jerks up when her phone rings; fumbles for it blindly because 2am, that’s that time when people call when they’re in serious trouble or someone’s died, and her nerves are so completely fried that it doesn’t even matter  _which_ ; she’s ready for it.  
  
“Naomi, oh, brill—I’m so sorry, mind, I know we’ve got that exam—or well, you do, I’m just sat in that class, obviously, but—“  
  
“Panda?” Naomi asks—sure that it’s her, but still so baffled that she has to double-check.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, it’s me, Pandora—Thomas said I should—well he didn’t really, but he did agree it would be smart, that you would know—oh, bollocksed monkey bums, you’ve got to come, Naomi, we’ve got to get her sorted; she’s off the tracks, she truly is.”  
  
There’s no point in asking who  _she_  is, and Naomi almost tells them to fuck off, but of course she can’t. Of course there’s just something, nagging, that won’t let her.  
  
“Where are you?”  
  
Panda’s instructions are totally incomprehensible, until she says, “Remember? Tom organized a rave here, it was whizzer good, you and Ef came together, he said.”  
  
They hadn’t, but she knows. “I’ll be there as soon as I can; just… fucking stay put, okay?” she sighs, and then snaps her phone shut.  
  
\----  
  
Effy’s head is tipped over the edge of the desk, lolling back and forth, until she laughs and swings upright.  
  
“Jesus,” Naomi breathes, and then looks at Thomas—not Panda, who wouldn’t be able to fucking tell her even if she did know, which is unlikely. “What is she on?”  
  
“Don’t know,” Thomas says and shaking his head. “This country, it's got too many drugs.”  
  
Effy slips off the desk, and lands on the floor with a thud, legs splayed, and then starts laughing so hard it makes Naomi’s spine tighten up involuntarily.  
  
“Call a taxi,” she snaps at Panda, who nods a few times, babbles to Thomas about how that seemed like a good idea and how they should’ve thought of it, but a second later they’re out of the manager’s office and in the hallway.  
  
Naomi kneels down next to Effy, whose head is tipped back and eyes are closed, until they snap open and stare.  
  
“What did you take?” Naomi asks, quietly, and Effy’s grin—bleary, sloppy—widens.  
  
“You here to fix me, Naomi?” It stings; more so when she follows it up with a soft, “My hero” that teems with sarcasm and loathing.  
  
“I’m here because your best friend is too sodding stupid to—“ Naomi starts to say, and then shakes her head. “The fuck’s wrong with you? We’ve got an exam in less than—six fucking hours, Effy.”  
  
“So?” Effy asks, and kicks her legs up, straightens them, sinks further down.  
  
“So—unlike  _you_ , I’d like to not fail out of college because—“  
  
“Nobody’s making you be here,” Effy says, smile slipping from her face so quickly that it’s almost frightening. “So why don’t you go back home, to your lovely house, your lovely mum, and get some rest, and then sit your lovely exam. I’m—“  
  
“Why are you  _doing_  this to yourself?” Naomi interjects, looking at Effy’s arm; the small cut on the inside of her elbow, the way her vain looks close to bursting. “Jesus fuck, Ef, what are you—“  
  
“It’s none of your business,” Effy responds, slowly.  
  
A burst of anger wells up in Naomi at such speed that she can’t do anything to force it back down. “Isn’t it? Panda called  _me_ , didn’t she?”  
  
“Her mistake,” Effy breathes, and then shifts—looking deliriously happy—before looking up at Naomi with a sad smile, reaching up for her cheek. “This isn’t your problem.”  
  
“You fucking  _promised_  that you wouldn’t—“  
  
“Yeah,” Effy says, letting her hand drop. “I fucking promised, and so did you.”  
  
Naomi’s got nothing else to say; slumps down against the desk next to her, and then waits for Thomas and Panda to call them back. After a minute, Effy tips over onto her lap, and she balls her hands into fists to stop herself from touching her.  
  
\----  
  
Effy throws up in the taxi; outside of her house; in the bathroom, twice, and then stares at Naomi until she can’t anymore—like if she closes her eyes, it’ll all have been a fucking dream.  
  
Naomi wishes it was.  
  
\----  
  
She can't bring herself to leave; watches Effy sleep it off as long as she can, and then catches a bus to college. She makes it through, writes the last few sentences on her exam in an almost illegible scrawl before finally giving in and crying in a bathroom stall.  
  
“You were gone before I even woke up this morning," her mum says. "So much for wishing you good luck."  
  
"It was Politics; I didn't need it," Naomi responds wearily, and then reaches for the stairs.  
  
"Hey-how was it?"  
  
“I have no idea," she say, after a beat, and then heads upstairs, sleeps for a day.  
  
\----  
  
Emily calls her the next day; and the day after that; and and after that, until she finally just shows up.  
  
“I know I’m not your girlfriend anymore, but would it kill you to pick up your phone?” she says, lingering in the doorway, and Naomi just sighs and rollsover away from her.  
  
“Fuck off, Em. I’m not in the mood.”  
  
“I heard what happened with Effy from Katie, of all people. Don’t you know by now that when something that fucked up happens you can talk to me?”  
  
“I’m not  _you_ , Emily. Things don’t just automatically get better for me if I say them out loud. I just—“ Naomi says, and can’t suppress a shudder, or the sob that follows it.  
  
She doesn’t turn around, but hears Emily take off her shoes, and then feels the bed dip behind her, and a hand rest carefully on her back.  
  
“You don’t have to let her do this to you,” Emily says, softly, and Naomi tenses against her hand, and then rolls over, stares Emily down.  
  
“Really. Like you didn’t have to let me do it to you?”  
  
Emily’s eyes flash with hurt, just for a second, but then she produces a small smile. “I've lived to not regret it, in that case.”  
  
“You’re not me, and I’m not Effy,” Naomi says, and runs a hand across her face, bites down on her knuckle. “I really just—I could have just—things were  _fine_ , and then I had to go and ask for more, when part of what-she'd never do it to me, push me like that, and just, Christ. I really, really fucked up.”  
  
“Naomi, don’t be daft,” Emily says, seriously. “Loving someone isn’t  _ever_ fucking up.”  
  
Naomi doesn’t bother responding; it's not something she'll ever be able to make Emily understand.  
  
\----  
  
She considers Spain; Cyprus, perhaps.  
  
She ends up hopping from hostel to hostel in the east of Germany, making out with a girl she finds wholly unattractive in a club in Berlin simply because she reminds her of neither Effy  _nor_  Emily, goes to see  _CSS_  in concert and is surrounded by girls that remind her of Effy, weaving back and forth and so fucking high that it makes her want to warn them all that this goes nowhere good.  
  
After a little more than a month, her money and her desire to be alone are gone, and she spends a night in the airport, waiting for the first available budget flight back to London.  
  
It’s raining when she gets in, and the small walk from the airplane to the bus soaks her hair, now so long that it's drenching the collar to her shirt. In Arrivals, her mum glances right past her three times before finally spotting her, which is only fitting.  
  
She hardly recognizes herself these days.  
  
\----  
  
Emily’s cut her hair; it’s lovely, just above her shoulders, and Naomi laughs when Emily raises her eyebrows and says, “No hairdressers in Germany?”  
  
“Fuck off, I’ve been back for a day,” she says, and when they hug it makes her feel less desperately alone for the first time in ages. It’s enough to make her pull back and say, “Em—let’s stay in touch, yeah?”  
  
Emily blinks and then smiles. “What, you weren’t planning on it before now?”  
  
“No, of course, but—“  
  
She stops; has no idea how to say  _I just can’t believe you’re the only connection I’ll have back to Bristol_ and not make it sound a little bit snide.  
  
\----  
  
August rushes by her.  
  
It’s the 20th before she knows it, and it already feels like a past life when she ties her bicycle up to the bike rack one last time.  
  
Emily’s waiting for her at the top of the stairs, with Katie talking excitedly to some of her friends a few feet over, and it’s so much like being sixteen again that Naomi almost gets nauseous with the feeling.  
  
“Nervous?” Emily asks, and looks so close to throwing up that Naomi laughs.  
  
“No—but it’s okay if you are, Ems,” she says, and gets an elbow in the ribs for her trouble.  
  
She doesn’t open the envelope there; just drops it in her bag, and watches as Emily gets hers just moments later, tears it open and then starts crying.  
  
“Shit, are you—“  
  
“No, no, it’s good, it’s fucking wonderful,” Emily assures her, and then cries some more.  
  
Naomi laughs, and pulls her by the arm. “C’mon. I need a fag, you can weep outside.”  
  
\----  
  
They sit out on the steps and watch people file by—Freddie, Cook, and JJ, then Panda and Thomas, and then Katie, who raises her eyebrows at Emily and then just rolls her eyes when Emily gives her a thumbs up.  
  
“She’s so lovely,” Naomi says, with a smile.  
  
“Mmhmm,” Emily agrees, sourly, and then looks pointedly at Naomi’s bag. “You can’t put if off forever, you know; if you haven’t made your firm offer conditions, you—“  
  
“I heard Doug the first eight times he told us, yeah,” Naomi says, but flicks her cigarette away and fishes out the envelope. “You do it. I really—“  
  
“Couldn’t care less, I know,” Emily says, with a fond and slightly mocking smile. “Silly twat.”  
  
Naomi rolls her eyes but looks away—at the door, where the last few students are filing out, without a single sign of—  
  
“Ouch—were you hoping for three A’s, babe?” Emily asks, sounding very worried, and Naomi’s head whips around.  
  
“What? Of course I was—“  
  
“Because this A* in Politics—bit fucking nauseating, if I have to be honest,” Emily interjects, and then passes over the paper.  
  
“… you complete cunt,” Naomi says, after a long moment, and then drops her head into her hand.  
  
“I don’t know,” Emily says, softly, and then puts an arm around her shoulders. “I think it’s kind of nice to see you still care about  _something_.”  
  
“I’m so glad you’re fucking off to the north soon, I can’t even tell you,” Naomi tells her, with a shudder, and then grips her results so hard they almost rip.  
  
“Do you—“ Emily starts saying.  
  
“No.”  
  
Effy ambles up slowly, glances at them both without saying anything, and then disappears inside.  
  
“Cheerful as ever,” Emily comments, looking over her shoulder at the door, and Naomi sighs.  
  
“Don’t, okay? I—“  
  
There’s no way to finish that sentence, and after a second, Emily nods. “Then let’s get out of here before she comes back. Okay?”  
  
\----  
  
The escape is temporary.  
  
When she gets home, a few hours later, Effy’s sat on the steps, smoking and staring off in the distance, and the most fucked up thing is that Naomi still thinks it looks normal—natural, even—to have Effy waiting there for her. It’s been months, and it feels more right than anything has since then.  
  
“Hey,” Effy says.  
  
“All right?” Naomi responds after a moment, in a voice so meek that she barely even recognizes it as her own.  
  
Effy shrugs. “Been worse.”  
  
“How’d you do?”  
  
“Have to resit Politics, obviously,” Effy says, with a small smile.  
  
“Yeah, I figured,” Naomi says, sitting down next to her, and sighing. “Why are you here?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Effy confesses, and then fumbles her cigarettes; drops the pack, and they both watch as it spills open, throws up cigarettes all over the street.  
  
“Fuck,” Naomi sighs, looking at them.  
  
“Yeah,” Effy agrees, and then rubs at her forehead. “UCL still on, then?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Good,” Effy says.  
  
“Ef,” Naomi says a long moment later, and then just shakes her head. “I don’t—“  
  
“I know,” Effy says, and then gets up, slowly. “Take care, yeah?”  
  
The disappointment is almost unbearable, and Naomi just nods; watches Effy stroll off to the bus stop, playing with her lighter, looking almost untouchable.  
  
\----  
  
“And?” her mum asks, looking up over a pair of swotty reading glasses; must be accounting time, Naomi thinks, and drops her bag, sits down at the table.  
  
“A* in Politics, As in the rest,” she says, with a small smile.  
  
“You’re disgustingly clever,” her mum notes, but sounds so fucking pleased about it that it’s the best kind of compliment, really.  
  
“Must’ve got it from you.”  
  
“Too right,” her mum says, and then tilts her head. “She left something for you upstairs, by the way. I don’t know if you—“  
  
\----  
  
She doesn’t even think to listen to it for the first thirty minutes; can’t get past the Post-It on top that says  _sorry_ , in sharp, angular handwriting that just reminds her of all the other sharp, angular things she misses.  
  
“Fuck,” she says again, and stares at the ceiling until she thinks she might not cry.


	12. winning

Effy’s apology is set in a form she doesn’t understand.  
  
But she  _tries;_ spends two whole days in her room, staring at the ceiling, iPod on repeat, wondering what part of the music means  _sorry_ , and if any of it means anything else. She doesn’t sleep—and when she does drift off, she wakes up to exploding bass lines, swelling string sections, until it gets to a point where she hears it all even in the shower, iPod far away on her bed, turned off.  
  
Her mum looks at her the third day, at breakfast, and says, “What have you got to lose, really?”  
  
It puts everything in perspective, and she takes her iPod with her to Effy’s house.  
  
The  _For Sale_  sign almost gives her a heart attack, until she hears a faint whisper of music from above her head, and sees Effy’s silhouette moving behind her window.  
  
It takes her three more minutes to ring the doorbell, and when she finally does, she has no idea what to say.  
  
“Hey,” Effy says, wearing tiny shorts and a little t-shirt, a smear of dust covering her cheek.  
  
“You’re  _moving_?” Naomi asks, and looks back at the sign, at the stacked, flattened boxes in the hallway.  
  
“Aren’t you?” Effy asks, and opens the door a bit further.  
  
All of Naomi’s resolutions to just ask for a quick explanation fly out the window, and she steps inside, almost achingly uneasy, and follows Effy up to her room.  
  
\----  
  
There’s a tin of paint, and the sex-word shape on the wall is gone.  
  
That, more than anything, makes this real.  
  
“Where are you going?” Naomi asks, and Effy shrugs.  
  
“Yorkshire, apparently. The divorce is almost final—“  
  
“The  _divorce_?”  
  
Effy’s smile is sad. “It’s been a long time coming, Naomi. If I’d wanted to talk about it, I know you would’ve listened.”  
  
“Jesus,” Naomi says, and then sits down on the edge of Effy’s bed. “What about Politics?”  
  
“Last I checked, they  _do_  actually have colleges up north,” Effy replies, smartly, and Naomi fights the overwhelming urge to hit her.  
  
“Yeah, right,” she says instead, and puts her elbows on her knees, chin in her hands.  
  
“So,” Effy says, and sits up on the bare dresser. “What brings you here?”  
  
Naomi stares at Effy’s feet for a long moment—bare, unclean, small and twisting—and then sighs. “I don’t understand what you were trying to tell me.”  
  
“With what?”  
  
“The CD. The second one. I think I got the point of the first one, or didn’t I?” she asks, a little sharper than she means to, but Effy doesn’t respond.  
  
“I figured the Post-It covered the explanations,” is all she says, and Naomi frowns and digs out her iPod.  
  
“The Post-It says  _sorry_. Track 2 sounds like that, maybe, but then Track 3 sounds like—I don’t fucking know, and Track 5 just sounds like  _goodbye_ , Effy.”  
  
Effy takes a deep breath and hops off the dresser; sits down next to Naomi, and reaches for the iPod. “Let me see it.”  
  
“I’m  _trying_  to hear you, okay, but I don’t—were you just trying to clean the air before you fucked off, or—“  
  
“No,” Effy says, and fast-forwards through half a song, before finally handing the iPod back. “Listen to that. The next 3 minutes of that, just by themselves, and I think you’ll know.”  
  
Naomi stares at her for a moment and then drops her iPod back into her bag; then laughs helplessly. “Why can’t you just write me a fucking note? _Dear Naomi, sorry I massively overreacted, let’s talk about things, and perhaps we can work something out_.”  
  
“Like what, exactly?” Effy asks, and then flashes a brief smile. “You don’t  _actually_  think that you and I could’ve made it work somehow, do you?”  
  
It hurts worse than being told that she was asking for too much; so much worse, and in the span of exactly fifteen words, Naomi realizes she’s in love. In love with fucking  _Effy Stonem_ , who is going to walk all over her and demand she feels absolutely nothing, or she won’t even get to be her  _friend_  in the future.  
  
 _What have you got to lose?_ her mum reminds her, and she steels herself; stares Effy down, and then smiles. “I do, actually.”  
  
Effy clearly wasn’t expecting that. “You can’t be—“  
  
“Emily used to think she knew everything there was to know about me. She’d basically stalked together a personality profile over the years, and used to remind me of all the things I  _cared_  about, like politics, and women’s rights, and whatever else. Yeah? Follow me around and tell me that I’m important and special, and that she alone knew me, out of everyone in this bloody school.”  
  
Effy’s lips twist. “Yeah, and?”  
  
“And, what she knew, basically, was an accumulation of having sat in classes with me for three years, and the few things I’d said out loud to Kieran at the start of the school year, and the fact that I’ve got a bloody Greenpeace pin on my bag.”  
  
Effy almost actually smiles but then sobers. “Emily was pathetically in love with you.”  
  
“ _Emily_  had no buggering idea what I wanted to go study, even though I was  _with_  her when I went through the UCL prospectus, and  _told_ her that I couldn’t do French, and  _asked_ her if she thought my chances were better with Russian or German.”  
  
Effy recoils, and then her mouth sets. “You’re reading far too much—“  
  
“You  _get me_ , and you don’t expect me to be—nicer, or more sociable, or  _better_  at things. You just—“ Naomi takes a deep breath, and then shakes her head. “I know I’ve cocked up, okay, but I  _can_  be better. Jesus Christ, I mean, I once sat through a three hour dinner with Katie Fitch just to show Emily I gave a fuck, and I don’t think I ever—“ She stops abruptly, and then rubs at her forehead.  
  
Effy doesn’t say anything.  
  
“This—Yorkshire thing, it doesn’t help, obviously, but before I fucked everything up, things were  _good_  between us, okay? And the idea that you’re just sitting around thinking it went to shit because that’s how  _everything_  goes around you—just, fuck off, Effy,” Naomi says, and then watches as Effy’s lips twitch, briefly.  
  
“But it  _is_ ,” Effy says, almost convincingly, and Naomi rolls her eyes.  
  
“You’re such a stupid cunt. So what if it meant something? Do you really think I would’ve suddenly turned around and said, oh, by the way, now that we’re having meaning _ful_  sex, I expect you to buy me flowers four times a week and to call me every night before you go to sleep? I’m not  _Freddie_ ,” she says, seriously.  
  
Effy breaks; her face stretches into a smile. “How did you know about the flowers?”  
  
“He just seems like the type,” Naomi says, and then she sobers; allows herself a long look at Effy’s face, the dark shadows under her eyes, the way she once again looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks. “Ef—I know it’s too late, but please don’t act like this was all just in  _my_  head, yeah?”  
  
Effy takes a deep breath, and then seems to shrink into herself, completely. “It wasn’t. I still don’t think—“  
  
“No,” Naomi says, softly, and then reaches for Effy’s hand. “Just leave it there.”  
  
Effy tangles their fingers together, and they sit like that for another good ten minutes, until the paint fumes start to make Naomi’s eyes water, and Effy sighs deeply and says she needs to continue packing.  
  
They hug, stiltedly—Effy going into the movement like she’s a fucking mummy, and then she’s already out the bedroom door, down the first two steps, when Effy’s door slams back open, and she’s being pulled back up by her arm.  
  
Effy’s lips are desperately seeking something; answers that Naomi doesn’t really know how to give without losing her heart in the process, but she’s not getting a choice in the matter.  
  
Ten minutes later, when Effy’s sliding her knickers off her legs, looking so incredibly lost that Naomi almost starts crying again, she thinks about Tracks 4 and 5, and wonders how the fuck she ever thought she didn’t understand them.  
  
“Please,” Effy whispers against her thigh, and it feels like goodbye.  
  
\----  
  
She and Katie end up being the ones to take Emily to the train station; there’d been so much shit in the car that there hadn’t been room for Emily, who has to make the trek up north separately, backpack strapped onto her shoulders and worried look on her face.  
  
“Ugh, you cow,” Katie says, and hugs her so tightly that it’s almost funny; Naomi bites her lip not to laugh. “You’ll be fine. Go and like, find a girlfriend or something. Cheryl Cole’s from up there, isn’t she? So it should be at least like, three percent possible for you to not bag a total minger.”  
  
“Thanks, Katie,” Emily says, dryly, but the way her arms are tightening is a tell, and Naomi suddenly realizes that she would’ve never been able to stay with Emily, full stop, because Katie’s hatred for her is individual, and has nothing to do with being gay. It would’ve been the end killer, had they managed to work around their schedules and expectations, and it suddenly makes her almost  _like_  Katie for not pushing things that far.  
  
“C’mere,” she says, and winks at Katie—who glares so professionally it’s almost an artform—before pulling Emily into a hug.  
  
“Give it time,” Emily whispers against her neck, and Naomi kisses her forehead. “If you’re meant to work it out, you will.”  
  
Naomi wonders how it is that one year ago, she would’ve laughed at Emily for being so hopelessly naïve, and now she finds herself grateful for it; the optimism something that she has to borrow, because it just isn’t innate. “Visit soon, yeah? I’ll be surrounded by swotty Marxists and need someone grounded in reality to keep me normal.”  
  
Katie snorts in next to them, mutters something like “fat fucking chance” and Naomi flips her off without looking.  
  
A minute later, Emily disappears on the train, and Naomi shoves her hands into her pockets, stands next to Katie and watches her disappear.  
  
“You deserve each other,” Katie says, and then almost  _stomps_  her foot when Naomi looks at her uncomprehendingly. “You and that psycho bitch, yeah. I mean, big fucking step down from Ems, obviously, but then just one look at you is enough to know that you’re a tasteless cunt.”  
  
Naomi takes a deep breath, and then feels something inside of her snap. “Yeah? And tell me, Katie—what does someone who nearly strangles her best friend to death deserve? Because really—“ and she reaches up for Katie’s temple, watches as Katie swats at her hand in panic, “—I think you got off easy. All things considered.”  
  
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Katie says, so fucking pale that it would be funny if it wasn’t so damn serious.  
  
“I’m sure you don’t,” Naomi says, and pats her on the cheek. “I’ll see you around, Katie.”  
  
It’s the end of Bristol; two days later she’s in London.  
  
\----  
  
She doesn’t touch her iPod for ages; finally ends up listening to it-paused where Effy left it-on the eighth night alone in her room in the halls, with a few posters already up on the walls but her suitcase still mostly packed. The place just feels like a prison.  
  
Hearing those three minutes, though, settles something inside of her; unlocks and restores a portion of her heart that she didn't even know had gone missing, had followed Effy up north without even asking for permission.  
  
She calls Emily, and says, "I think we can make it work, somehow. Effy and I."  
  
"Of  _course_  you can," Emily says, sounding thoroughly confused, and Naomi laughs.  
  
\----  
  
She calls Effy in late October, when the music alone won’t cut it anymore—gets her voicemail, the ever-amusing  _I’m not speaking right now_  almost a reminder of home, and says, “Let me come visit you.”  
  
Effy texts back a day later.  _Things to do in Hull: …_  
  
“Twat,” Naomi tells her phone, and then laughs.  
  
\----  
  
Effy’s wearing neither coat nor scarf; looks completely ridiculous, out of place at King’s Cross and in all of London, really, but then there aren’t many places where Effy looks at home. The lake, funnily enough, comes to mind, but then that place wasn’t ever real, and maybe they shouldn’t keep track of those places if they’re going to try to be.  
  
“Not all that sure what there is to do in London, either,” Naomi says, with a shrug, and Effy spontaneously reaches up, pulls on her fringe before brushing it aside.  
  
“I can think of one thing,” she says, and then smiles so tentatively that Naomi almost hugs her on the spot.  
  
\----  
  
The bed in her room squeaks like crazy, and after the third thrust, Naomi muffles her laughter against Effy’s sternum, who just kicks against her arse and says, “Keep going, you twat.”  
  
“I’ve missed you,” she says, moments later, and Effy responds by pulling her into a kiss; comes minutes afterwards, exhaling sharply against Naomi’s mouth, and Naomi breathes it in, holds it inside of her as long as she can, until Effy’s motivated tongue, her knowing eyes make it almost impossible.  
  
Effy moves to her side a moment later, and Naomi glares at her, until with an exaggerated sigh she shifts in closer; then falls asleep so quickly, throwing an arm and leg over Naomi’s torso, that Naomi laughs breathlessly and wonders how she went from being ignored to trapped in minutes.  
  
\----  
  
“What now?” Effy asks the next morning, over breakfast, eaten pressed together tightly on Naomi’s bed, and Naomi stiffens at the question.  
  
“I don’t know. I think it depends on you, doesn’t it,” she says, carefully, after a long moment.  
  
Effy finishes her croissant slowly, licks at her fingers, and when she’s done swallowing, kisses Naomi on the lips—slowly, unsurely, and without a hint of wanting to fuck.  
  
It’s never happened before, and Naomi looks at her for a long moment.  
  
“Now, we do what we can,” Effy says, plainly, and steals Naomi’s croissant.  
  
“We’ve got a year until you move here. It won’t be easy,” Naomi warns, and Effy just shrugs.  
  
“Nothing really is, Naomi.”  
  
\----  
  
On Sunday, Effy leaves, with a small, grudging kiss on the platform and a scarf—stolen or borrowed from Naomi—wrapped around her neck.  
  
Naomi fills the empty spaces on her wall with train schedules to Hull, and thinks of them as promises to keep trying.


End file.
